


At the Violet Hour

by kalenel



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 05:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 116,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalenel/pseuds/kalenel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story explores the events in "For Such Loss, Abundant Recompense" from Thane's POV. You probably ought to read "For Such Loss..." first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hurry Up Please Its Time

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted on ff.net. I've ported it over here in its entirety--author's notes and all.

_Blue eyes nervous, darting, sleeves falling off of hunched shoulders as she hands me the datapad. "You didn't get this from me." She says, sniffing loudly. "Now where's the money; you promised me money." I thank her, transfer the credits into her account. She'll use it for red sand; I can smell it on her skin, see it in her chipped fingernails, her darkened teeth. She mutters something I cannot catch and shuffles down the alley, swallowed up by darkness._

Thane did not usually use those consumed by drugs to funnel him information—it was careless. Those who let their appetite control their reason, like the human woman he had purchased the information from, were apt to betray the hand that fed them if the offer was high enough… or they were desperate enough for another fix.

And, truthfully, a large part of him was disgusted at the thought of providing the means for these hapless creatures to continue destroying themselves. He was under no illusions, of course—if they did not get the money from him they would get it from someone else—but the interaction always made him feel unclean, soiled; the air around them was sour and poisonous. After he had memorized the data the addict gave him, he washed his hands for several prayer cycles, stopping just before his scrubbing could completely desensitize his fingertips.

But all of that didn't matter now. He was running out of time. It was true that he still had months—if the gods favored him, a year—but he would normally spend at least a month researching one target, and he had decided that he would rather try to remove as many spots of darkness as he could rather than obsess over doing a job perfectly. He didn't have to worry about his reputation anymore, after all. What was vanity to him? Thus, he didn't allow himself the luxury of leisurely pursuing information on his targets, of tailing them for weeks, walking in their footsteps, watching them with friends, family, memorizing their routine, knowing their next move before they knew it themselves, and finally taking their lives—sometimes in a swift, silent shot from a distance, other times a subtle poison while they broke their fast, or, his preference, bare hands around their neck, a sharp crack letting him know that the deed was done. Clean.

He would not know his target as intimately as he would like, but this asari, this Nassana, would die nonetheless. He had no idea how the human had obtained the information for him—schedules, maps, personnel rosters—which was another cause for alarm, but it would have to do.

He'd had his eye on Nassana Dantius since she escaped conviction for the deaths of two rivals in a competing biotic research corporation. The more he had looked into her so-called business dealings, the more death and corruption he uncovered—some even involving her own sisters—but what had driven him to really decide to pursue her was when he had discovered she was using indentured servants— _slaves—_ to test new pharmaceuticals, often resulting in their death or severe impairment. She took advantage of and murdered the weak and downtrodden. He didn't care if the so-called contract she had with them made it legal. Legality and ethics often didn't coincide on Illium.

The towers were difficult to penetrate, but not impossible. There was a small drainage pipe that ran out into the sewers that had been unhinged for repairs for weeks—there was some sort of bureaucratic tie up in the city council that prevented the contractors from getting paid, so the job sat half finished while Nassana bickered with another set of contractors working on a different section of the building. While it would be a tight squeeze—even for him—it was an extremely fortunate development, and he had spent an evening in prayer to thank Amonkira for His boon.

He could take the pipe up, up through the building, stopping only to move to a maintenance shaft on the fifth floor, and then slip through that until he reached an air vent directly over Nassana's desk. It was the end of the week, but she traditionally worked late. She also apparently believed that disgruntled siblings might seek the end of her life; as a consequence, she had become paranoid and doubled her guard accompaniment. It would be difficult, but there was a small window of opportunity where her guards changed shifts—he would have about thirty seconds in which the asari was unguarded, defenseless. It was more than enough time for him to finish the job.

Whether he'd live long enough to feel the satisfaction of a completed mission was another problem altogether.  _If_  everything went according to plan, he could be back up in the air vent before the new guards checked in. He would have to hurry out of the building—there was little he could do to hide a body in that amount of time—but according to his calculations, he could be back out on the street in a mere four minutes and back to his room in twenty, in plenty of time for his evening meditation. But... he knew the odds. Nassana's guards would be swift. He would just have to try to be swifter.

His eyes drifted over to his rifle, nestled in its case next to his pistol. He would bring neither of them with him tonight, and he already felt their absence as keenly as that of an old friend. They would be too cumbersome to bring through the drain, though, and if perhaps something did go wrong, he could always procure weapons on-site. Instead, he took with him three slim blades—small, silent killers. He ran his fingers over them, sliding his scales over the smooth, cold metal, resting lightly on the alloy of the handle. They were familiar, comforting, having defended him in tight spots many times, spilling the blood of his enemies. They were adequate substitutes to have at his side in the unfortunate event that his mission actually disintegrated into hand to hand combat.

He knelt on the floor, legs folded underneath him, whispering one last prayer to Amonkira for his success. This woman was a menace. She had to be stopped. If the Lord of Hunters chose to grant him success, he would be satisfied, even if Kalihira also chose to take him to the sea in the same evening.

He was ready. He slipped the blades into his coat, snapping the weapons case shut and sliding it under the bed. Twilight approached. It was time for him to move.

* * *

If this mission had occurred even two years ago, he would have turned around as soon as he laid eyes on the building. Things were wrong - the air was bitter, the light harsh, falling on his skin like a burden rather than a gift. He spent several moments simply staring at the entrance—his way in was around the right side—but there was something off about the main doors, something that he would have known immediately had he spent the required time doing proper research. As it was, the doors plagued him with a vague feeling of unease that he could not place.

But when nothing manifested itself, he shook himself loose from the stillness he had fallen in, striding across the street. He liked Illium—the social structure was so clearly defined. It was apparent in the clothes, the manners, the scents and taste of the air around those that fortune had chosen. The light held those in her embrace, but she did not hold the poor to her bosom. Thane, with his nondescript leathers and downcast eyes, drew the attention of no one of consequence. He scented the air with a pale nothingness that was easily forgotten.

The drain was tighter than he had thought, and he let out a long, slow breath, lungs hitching a bit as he let the air out of them, compressing his body even further as he slipped in. A sharp memory of his training flashed behind his eyes…

 _Master directs me toward the hole, barely five hand spans across, and for the first time since Mother and Father gave me to the Compact a year ago, I balk, stopping in my tracks, forcing Master to drag me toward it. I kick, scream, struggle; Master is so strong, forcing me in; the walls scrape against my scales, ripping some off and I beg, plead, cry out for Mother, and then the door is shut, and there is nothing but the slick wetness of my tears, the sound of my ragged breathing and soft whimpers. My hands slap ineffectually against the smooth walls, scraping my nails along the surface, and I am suddenly struck with the thought there is_ not enough air _…_

When they had let him out of the tunnel two days later, Thane had been quiet, subdued. He had adapted. His master had not spoken of it again. And now it was easy; his eyes adjusted quickly to the inky blackness of the pipe as he slid along, ignoring the dampness of the air that slithered its cold, moist fingers over his skin.

His path was smooth, and he felt himself near the maintenance shaft with an efficiency that made him smile. His fingers touched the seal—he ran them along its rough edge, worn with the hard minerals in the water, despite its new construction, and with a few grunts and strained maneuvering, he brought his omnitool up. He typed his commands in its violet shimmer, tapping into the network to override the security—it was simple; the restrictions were only there to prevent the seal from accidentally opening and letting water into the maintenance shafts. The seal opened with a hiss, and he gladly extricated himself from his damp environment, sliding on his belly until he was all the way in, closing the seal behind him.

He rolled over on his back and took a moment to stretch out as much as the shaft would let him—he felt like he was in grand, open hall compared to the pipe he had just left. The map was bright in his mind—third branch to the left, ladder up until dead end, then right until another ladder and straight on up to Nassana's office. Simple.

Then he heard the gunshots.

For one wild moment, he thought he had somehow been spotted— perhaps thermal detectors, perhaps an automated security system his intelligence had not covered— he sprung up on his hands and knees, ready to fly down the shaft, but then he paused, considering. The shots, he could tell they were from an M-8 Avenger, were not near him; they did not pursue him, and the screams, shouts…

There was a grate about ten yards ahead of him, and he wasted no time getting there, peering through the slats to discover the reason for such an unwelcome development.

Eclipse mercenaries. Three of them. Two ground troops and one engineer. They had cornered four salarian workers—part of the contractor's force, it seemed, dressed in blue and white, tools scattered at their feet—and were shouting orders to leave, brandishing their weapons menacingly. One salarian already lay dead on the floor, three shots to the chest. The other workers were panicking, unsure where to go, confused by the shouts of the mercenaries. They were going to be shot.

They were going to die.

A knife is in each hand before Thane knows what he is doing. No time for subtlety. No time for silence. He kicks the grate out, falling on the shoulders of one of the troops. He wears a helmet; it is going to be hard to snap his neck; no matter, knife between the third and fourth rib, through the joint in his armor, slide it in and out, slash at the heart. Throws second knife to catch the engineer between the eyes; takes the gun from the dead man's hand, last one down with a head shot.

The salarians stared at him in wide eyed horror. It bothered him for a second before he pushed it away to focus on the problem at hand. "Do not fear me." His voice was quiet, calm, despite the rush he felt in his chest. He could taste their fear and panic, the delicate scent of desperation tickling his senses. He dislodged his blades as the first mercenary gurgled his last, then wiped them down, running his fingers over them, delighting in the lingering warmth along the blade, and returning them to their sheath. "What happened? Why were they going to kill you?" He strapped the discarded pistol to his side—the unfortunate man would not need it anymore.

One of the salarians blinked large eyes and took a tentative step forward, twisting his hands together. "Nassana's spooked about something, someone… she's having the mercenaries clear out the building. We… wanted to take our tools with us, but they grew impatient. They… they killed Narin."

Thane looked away, hands curling into fists as the salarian grew choked with tears. He didn't know if Nassana had discovered that he was coming or if she was still paranoid about one of her sisters. It didn't matter. His eyes lighted on Narin, on the slack jaw and open, unseeing eyes, and he murmured a quiet prayer. He should have been faster. He should have anticipated that Nassana would do this. If he had properly done his research none of this would have happened. He could hear his master's voice echo in his head: Failure. Disgrace. Dishonorable. Worthless. Anything less than perfect was unacceptable.

He would no longer be able to reach Nassana unnoticed. The guards were on too high an alert. She would not be alone, not even for a moment. There would be no window of opportunity. Suddenly what had seemed like a conventional job with an acceptable risk became much more dire. He faced the near certainty that he would die in this tower. Two choices were before him—he could retreat now and allow these workers to be slaughtered but live another day, or he could press on, saving as many as he could, finish the job, and in all likelihood die in Nassana's office.

It really wasn't a choice at all.

"It's…" A small voice broke through Thane's thoughts. "It's you, isn't it? She's afraid of you."

He took a quick step toward the salarians, who collectively moved back. "It is not safe for you here." He stepped toward them again, herding them backwards. "Stay silent." They realized at the last moment that he had cornered them in a maintenance closet, and before they could protest, he shut the door, jamming its security protocols to prevent them from opening it again.

He sighed, jumping up to haul himself back into the shaft just as he began to hear more gunfire farther in the complex. Thane let out a soft curse, scrambling through the tunnel. This was turning out to be a disaster.

But when he investigated the source, ready to come to the rescue of more workers, he found instead a human woman, a turian male, and a young krogan, the latter two laying down suppressing fire while the woman let loose a biotic wave, throwing several LOKI mechs crashing into a wall. The team dispatched a wave of mercenaries in short order, and Thane found himself watching the human with some interest—she looked exactly like that Spectre that had died…

"Shepard," the turian said, slamming a fresh heat sink into his rifle. "If we have to keep going through all these mercenaries, this drell assassin of yours is going to be long gone by the time we arrive."

"You don't think I know that, Garrus?" Her voice was terse, stressed.

"Well, we can stand around complaining about it, or we can go kill ourselves some more mercs." The krogan growled, stamping his feet impatiently.

They said a few more inconsequential things, and moved on; Thane was already pressing forward, quite concerned. It was already disturbing enough that Nassana had begun killing innocents outright, but now this trio apparently knew he was here. His carelessness was embarrassing. Compounding the issue was the fact that a supposedly dead Spectre (he had dismissed claims of her return as mere foolish optimism, but it was impossible to deny such physical evidence) was now on his tail—did she want to kill him? He couldn't think of any particular reason why she would want him dead—he had, of course, made quite a few enemies over the years, but to his knowledge his actions had never adversely affected the Council or its agents.

But he adapted. The situation did not have to be as grim as it appeared on the surface if he were able to use it to his advantage. Nassana had shattered under the pressure—an unavoidable fact. But, she also now knew that Shepard and her team were here. They could prove a valuable distraction for Nassana's guards, allowing him to slip relatively unnoticed through the shafts. The only problem was that he had to reach the asari first—his ability to get out of the tower alive hinged on the fact that he would be able to slip in and out of her office unnoticed. A small part of him admitted that he also just couldn't stand the fact that—out of this entire destroyed mission—the last moment of victory, triumph, might be claimed by another. He could still salvage this. He could still get to Nassana first.

He ghosted ahead, leaving Shepard and her team behind him, feeling more and more at ease with each floor he put between them. His progress was impeded only once by another group of salarians in trouble—it was simple to sight the mercenary's head with the pistol he had lifted off of the dead one, the target's skull bursting in a satisfying cloud of bright red. It was only when the blood began to cool that it faded to gray in his eyes, and he enjoyed the momentary splash of color far more than was appropriate.

He locked those workers in an enclosed space as well before moving on, but he had only moved up one floor when, to his disappointment and surprise, he heard more gunfire and shouts behind him—he could distinguish the turian's flange out of the smattering of asari and human. Shepard moved faster than he thought.

Thane hesitated a moment, hand on one smooth rung, about to ascend to another floor, but his curiosity was too strong—he slid down to the previous level, peeking through a grate to watch his potential enemy in action.

She was a goddess in motion—all fire and energy and destruction. She showed a sharp duality of nature; part of her was calculated and reserved, taking careful aim and ensuring that not a single shot was wasted. He appreciated her economy. The other part was joyful chaos, a gleeful appreciation of the slaughter. She  _enjoyed_  killing the mercenaries.

That was... distasteful to him. She did not separate herself; rather, she lived in the moment, each fallen enemy another priceless victory, an opportunity to share a fierce grin with her turian comrade. But he could not discount her skill. He knew from the vids that Shepard was thought to be a formidable human—so different from those he normally faced—and now that he saw her in person... he had to admit that the vids had not exaggerated. Or, at least not as much as he'd thought they had.

If she proved to be his adversary, it would be... problematic.

A low rumble vibrated his core. The longer he sat around watching, the more likely that they would have to face each other. He had to  _move_.

And she was hot on his heels, giving him the illusion of being ahead and then she would be right on top of him, and it was  _infuriating_. He clamored through the tunnels, clanging up the ladders, not caring what sort of noise he made anymore; Shepard more than covered any sound from him.

He finally reached the vent over Nassana's desk, but he savored victory for only a moment before Shepard burst in, striding confidently into a room full of enemies. They exchanged barbs, but Thane cared little for them, instead focusing on the resistance in the room.

Three guards. Two human. One asari. Armed with standard Eclipse fare: the M-8 Avenger yet again. No helmets. Stupid. Careless. Advantageous.

Thane's focus changed sharply when Shepard responded to Nassana's question on why the Spectre was there—to 'look' for someone, him, apparently. Interesting, but irrelevant for the moment.

He shifted his weight, wincing when the metal sounded under his knees, giving another turn to the screw, tightening everyone's tensions.

The asari guard stalked away from her fellows at Nassana's command, to check other entrances. A fatal move.

Time slowed, his senses singing with anticipation…

…and he drops down, padding lightly up to the first human, hands wrap around his warm, soft skin, and then the man is gone; the second is aware only for a moment of his impending demise, and his weak throat is destroyed, holding the shoulder, preventing the body from absorbing the blow, the windpipe collapsing, vertebrae snapping under the pressure. The asari turns around, taking in a half a breath to shout a warning; it is all she can do; her death comes quickly in one shot.

Nassana.

She's already drawing, already bringing the pistol down to bear on him, but he grips her wrist, pressing down on that one point that makes her fingers go limp, pulling her close, settling his own stolen pistol against her abdomen. He lets her come to the realization of her death for one, long second—it seems an eternity to him, her eyes wide, the fear creeping in, acrid on his tongue, pricking his nose. This one moment, her last moment, will live on in him; he will carry it for her, remember it for her, and in that way, she will not have died alone.

And then he fires. An artery is severed—he makes sure of that—and he cradles her, murmuring a soft word in her ear to calm her wet whimpers, laying her across her console, folding her hands across her chest. The blood spreads quickly. She is dead in moments.

He hears the whine of a rifle powering up.

Thane blinked both sets of eyelids to focus on the turian sighting him down the barrel of a sniper rifle—an M-97 Viper. Excellent choice. He knew that he should feel fear, but Shepard had not drawn her weapon, and if she had not openly engaged him in hostilities, then he had no immediate worry.

There were more important concerns, after all. If he was about to meet his end, he would not do so without a last prayer for forgiveness, and, folding his hands carefully together, he began reciting them in his head, feeling his heart rate slow as the familiar pattern moved through his thoughts, his throat expanding ever so slightly as he let out a light humming song to accompany them.

The sunset colored everything in the room, the light warm and soft on his skin. The Goddess embraced him. He felt welcome, at peace. The air tasted like sun-kissed waves.

But it seemed that Shepard was not interested in killing him yet. "I was hoping to talk to you." Her voice was low, reasonable. It was not as high pitched as many females of her species, more comfortable to his ears.

She was civil. He could be too. "I apologize—I do not mean to seem as if I am ignoring you. But prayers for the wicked must not be forsaken."

Her lips tightened, was she angry? Had he unwittingly offended her? He recalled little Mouse's expressions. Perhaps she was confused. Her response confirmed his conclusion. "Why? Do you really think she deserves it? I had dealt with her before—she's a nasty piece of work. Or..." Her mouth quirked. "...Was."

"Not for her." He clarified, a part of him amused with the thought of explaining this to a potential executioner. "For me. The measure of an individual can be difficult to discern by actions alone. Take you, for instance." He gestured around the room for an example, although aware that the current carnage was all due to him. "All this destruction, chaos." He recalled her countenance when she gunned down the mercenaries and his voice grew bitter. "I was curious to see how far you'd go to find me. How many you would kill in order to reach your goal. Well... here I am."

She appeared to sense his displeasure, but if it affected her, she did not let on. It seemed that she was not as emotionally explosive as the rest of her species. "You expected me? I didn't know I was that obvious. How did you know I was even coming?"

Thane hesitated a moment, unwilling to admit that he had been surprised by her. Failure. "I... didn't. Not until you marched in the front door and started shooting. Nassana had become paranoid. You saw the strength of her guard force. She believed one of her sisters would kill her." He left out the part about the salarians. He wasn't willing to discuss that at present. "You were a valuable distraction." He said instead.

That got a rise out of her. "You used me?" Her voice rose, a pitch that  _did_  become a little grating on his hearing. "So you could kill her?" She stabbed a finger at the dead asari.

He regretted antagonizing her. "I needed a diversion," he explained in a reasonable tone. "You needed, apparently, to speak with me. You have certainly fulfilled your end of the bargain." He held out his hands, wrists up in an attempt to placate her. "What would you like to discuss?"

She relaxed, and Thane lowered his hands to clasp them behind his back. "Someone's been abducting human colonies." She explained her mission, and Thane found himself liking it more and more with each passing moment. A suicide mission to save the galaxy? He felt a sharp pulse of gratitude—while he knew he was doing good by taking out those like Nassana, he also knew that the power vacuum would inevitably lead to someone just as ruthless taking their place. His victory was transitory.

But  _this_. This was entirely different. Passing through the Omega-4 relay. Fighting and defeating an obscure and terribly powerful species. Saving the lives of hundreds of thousands of innocents.

Shepard seemed to feel that the revelation of the nature of the mission would be a detriment, though. She squinted those small, shining human eyes of hers, green like sea kelp.

"I am dying."

There it was. He saw her blink with shock. He had told only a few people before her, and it always interested him to see their reaction. It revealed a lot about who they were, and if he was going to work with this human, he was very interested in knowing who she was.

"Low survival odds do not concern me." He continued. "The abduction of your colonists does." He rocked back on his heels, awaiting her response.

She hesitated only a moment. "Are you contagious?" Very practical. "How long do you have?" Extremely practical.

It pleased him. He hated pity. He would have thought even less of her if she had offered it—she did not know him. She had no reason to care about his fate unless it affected her mission. "If you wish to know more about it, we can discuss it later on your ship. I am not contagious, and," he looked pointedly at Nassana. "It will not affect my work."

Shepard looked unconvinced, but finally she nodded. "I hadn't heard that you were sick. Can I help at all? Will you need accommodations?"

"No, giving me this opportunity is enough." He let his gratitude color his voice, humming deeply. "The universe is a dark place, but I am trying to make it brighter before I die." He glanced out at the sunset; it had nearly slipped below the horizon. The salarian workers again came to mind. "Many innocents died today." He murmured, unable to stop the words. "I was not fast enough, and they suffered. I must atone for that." Along with so many other things.

Shepard regarded him again with those tiny eyes—they were so strange and pale. Unnerving. She salted the air, reminding him of the ocean. Kelp eyes. Scent of cold sea spray. Pale sand skin. Blood strand hair. She was death personified.

He suppressed a shiver, hoping that the gods were delivering him into salvation and not destruction. He wanted to atone. He wanted to be better. He _could_  be better. He was trying so hard to prove it to them.

"I will work for you." He said, to break the silence more than anything. "No charge." He mimicked a human gesture, shaking her moist hand.

The gods worked in strange ways.

* * *

 **A/N:**  To those who are experiencing my writing for the first time, I highly suggest that you read the companion piece to this first, "For Such Loss, Abundant Recompense". To those who have faithfully followed me from that first story, welcome! I hope you enjoy this one as well.

My beta rides shotgun with me on this one too, so you should all thank her if you like what you read! And, just as with the last one, a poem sets the foundation here. Thus, to get a deeper understanding, read T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land". Everything else belongs to Bioware.

Just to alleviate any confusion: the italicized paragraphs are memory flashbacks, and the switch to present tense during the battle scenes is deliberate. ^_^


	2. Between Two Lives

_The human's dark eyes study me, suspicion coloring the air like a bitter spice; it makes me want to twist my mouth in distaste, but I keep my expression neutral, blank. His sarcastic words leave a sour taste on my tongue. "I'm more loyal than my next paycheck." The only betrayal of my irritation is the brief flick of my eyelids—a brash, obtuse human would not know the difference. Passion rules this one. I am uncomfortable with the thought of working with one who allows his biases to rule his thoughts._

_Then her voice. "Obviously he is too. He's doing the mission gratis. What's your concern?" She slaps down the man's objections like bothersome insects, defending me, standing up for me. She doesn't know me. I am unsettled._

The AI, EDI, was right—Life Support was delightfully dry. His lungs seemed to loosen in the arid heat, and, for the first time since he stepped aboard he did not feel cold. It was difficult being a child of such a hot planet at times—many places he visited were uncomfortably frigid.

It was a suitable room—one large window at the end; a low cot; neat, well-lit shelves along one wall; a table and two chairs, complete with a lamp; and an access point into the ventilation shafts through the ship in the ceiling. He would have to explore those later on.

His belongings had already been carried aboard the ship—a long, low, locked chest and two cases for his weapons. They all sat in the center of the room; his entire life was packed into those three containers.

He unpacked the weapons first, laying them gently, reverently into the shelves. Each had to be perfectly placed—he would scoot one a fraction this way, a fraction that way, stepping back to survey his work, then moving forward to tweak it in a different direction. Irikah had been driven to distraction by his obsession for having things  _just so_ ; he didn't understand how she could live amongst piles of datapads and art supplies. She had confined her mess to her studio, though, and he had retreated to the study when he needed order and structure, pattern and ritual. She had said that their placed looked 'lived in', her way of excusing the casual blanket thrown over the back of the chair, the occasional toys that Kolyat left in the living room. He had surrendered after a brief struggle, giving in to her sweet smiles and warm whispers in his ear.

But now... now he fell back into his habit, drilled into his head over his years as a child. One did not leave one's belongings about; it was careless and unnecessarily obstructive. It was important,  _vital_ , to be perfect.

He stepped back from the display to check his work one last time. He supposed it would have to do. The lighting wasn't exactly right, but he did not want to bother his hosts with what would seem an overly picky request. Perhaps he could switch out the lights on his own the next time they docked.

He turned next to the trunk containing all other extraneous supplies. His fingers deftly flicked the locks open, and he took out his knives first, rolling the soft cloth open, pleased with how the metal caught the light in the room. Thane ran his fingers over each, needing to touch them to assure himself of their presence. Satisfied, he rolled them back up, searching for a convenient shelf and finding none that suited him, instead nestling them back in the trunk. He didn't think that his new Commander would have much call for stealthy knives anyway.

The remainder of the chest, datapads, a bottle of  _tekana_  given as a gift from a hanar employer who had since gone to the sea, a set of extra clothes, and a small box of Irikah's things, he left inside as well. There was simply no room, and he did not wish to clutter his new quarters. He did, however, bring out the small cup that Kolyat had painted for him one year—the designs were all but worn off, but Thane still cherished it.

 _He hands the small cup to me, plastic and metal, clean lines and simple construction; his mother must have picked it out, she knows I would like the design. "Look, look father, I painted us on it; mother let me use her paints, and she told me not to spill, but I did spill one bottle, but she said it doesn't matter, and look, there's you and me and mother and we're at the beach!" The drawings are bright and childish, but I have never seen anything quite as lovely. I am struck by the superfluity of such a gesture and overwhelmed by how necessary this cup is to me now_.

Irikah had intended on setting the paint with a glaze, but she never had the time; it had always been put off until another day, and now only the smallest, fading imprint remained of Kolyat's efforts. Thane sat the cup on the table, arranging it to his liking, and locked the chest up again, sliding it under the cot.

He tested the cot, feeling the give, and was glad that it was at least moderately comfortable; he could sleep just about anywhere—he had slept standing up, propped against his rifle, on the top of a windswept tower in the middle of a rainstorm—but it was nice to know that he wouldn't feel stiff upon wakening. He was not as young as he used to be, after all.

And now that all that was done, he was free to give his evening thanks to the gods; he regretted that there was no sunset to warm his skin, but he knew his prayers would be heard even without the light to carry them up. Thane settled down in the middle of the room, folding his legs under him, drifting his fingers along the patterns in the floor, letting out his breath in a long, slow hum as he prepared for his meditations.

Or at least he tried to.

A series of chimes let him know that someone sought access to his room. He considered ignoring it. He was not inclined to receive company at the moment. But, it  _could_  be his new employer—he should answer the door. It would be the polite thing to do.

"Enter." He did not have to rise from his position, though.

The door slid open to, indeed, reveal his Commander. She seemed a bit taken aback by his location. "Have I... interrupted something?"

Thane looked at her through hooded eyes. "I was about to start my evening's meditations, but it is no matter. I am at your disposal, Shepard."

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I came to show you around the Normandy." She tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear. It was a soft white, like a shell. "I'd normally assign Kelly to do this, but she's busy prepping the psych report on the next potential recruit."

He wondered why she felt the need to explain that to him. "If you do not have the time yourself, it is hardly necessary. I can find my way around on my own."

Her stance stiffened. "You don't want me to show you around?"

His eyes blinked rapidly, wrists turning up in his lap. He did not wish to offend her—she had been kind in her defense of him, and he did not want to return that gesture with an unintended insult. "No, that is not it at all." He rose in one, fluid movement, hands straightening his jacket. "I realize you must be busy. I did not wish to be the reason some other, far more important duty, was shirked."

Shepard gave him a small smile. "It'll be pretty nice to play welcome wagon for a bit, actually. Come on, I promise I'll be quick—I'm sure you'll want to go back to your meditation."

Thane fell into step beside her, a silent shadow in her wake. "Is there any place in particular that you'd like to start?" She asked, eyes drifting up and down his form. "I could start at the armory..."

"Where can I obtain water?" Thane asked immediately, and at Shepard's look of confusion, he continued. "Drell originally hail from a desert world, Commander. It is... ingrained in my mind."

She shrugged, that peculiar human gesture where they indicated apathetic acceptance with a roll of their shoulders. "Fine by me. That's the mess hall, right this way."

The room was large and bright, clean and ordered. A few stray crew members sat at the long tables, talking softly to each other, stopping to cast surreptitious glances his way. He was used to getting them—not many drell were seen off of Kahje, and not many people  _went_  to Kahje. He understood that his species' appearance was supposed to be exotic and, among some races, desirable. During his time spent on Omega, he had fended off quite a few... offers... but even his hunger could not force him to forgo his pride.

"Cups are in here." She drew his attention by opening a door to reveal rows of bright, stainless steel cups. "Plates are next to it. Cutlery and utensils are in the drawers here. Pots and pans are below, in case you want to make your own meals." Shepard was composed of small, quick movements – concise, clean, without waste. But they were not mechanical; even as she crisply explained the kitchen to him, she still held a fluid grace about her that pleased him.

"Kelly should send you an email soon with all of the dining hours," she continued. "But I warn you that the meals aren't the best. Gardner does what he can with the ingredients he has. All of the foodstuffs are in the storage units here—don't touch this one; that's Gardner's private stock, and he'll kill you if he finds out you messed with it." She reached for a tap, turning it on. "And here's the water."

Thane always wondered what it must have been like for his ancestors to go from Rakhana to Kahje, where water was suddenly falling on their heads all of the time, no shortage, no economy needed. Even after growing up in such an environment, Thane still felt a flutter of instinctual relief when he saw how easily he could secure his water source aboard the ship. "May I?" He asked, hand hovering hesitantly near the cups.

"Go right ahead." Shepard looked amused as he poured himself a glass. He sniffed the water experimentally to ensure there was no taint, delighted when the cool liquid passed down his throat, pure, sweet, wonderful.

"Does it meet your approval?"

He had the feeling that she was teasing him, and he frowned at her. "Yes, thank you."

"Any other drell idiosyncrasies that I need to know about?" She ignored his expression, forging ahead with that smile still on her face.

"Idiosyncrasies to you would be normal to me, Shepard." He sat the cup in the sink. "I think they will just have to be revealed on their own."

"I hear that drell have perfect memories." She looked like she was trying to create her own perfect memory, eyes moving over his face, studying him.

It appeared that she would have her conversation with him, regardless of any frown that he harbored. "You hear correctly. I can perfectly recall nearly every moment—barring those earliest in my life."

Shepard leaned back against the counter, hands braced on its edge. "Why?"

He blinked. "I am not sure I understand your question."

Her finger came up to absentmindedly trace the edge of a tile on the counter. "Why do drell have perfect memories?"

"Why do humans suffer from such unnatural curiosity?" He shot back, but he smiled despite himself. "The explanation that makes the most sense is that in the ever shifting sands of Rakhana, it was an evolutionary advantage to be able to remember landmarks, even as the terrain rearranged itself."

Her finger was as pale as sea-worn driftwood. "Is it still useful now?"

Thane wasn't used to talking about these sorts of things, but Shepard's line of inquiry was natural, inviting. He found himself almost enjoying it. "Very much so... at least in my line of work."

Tiny eyes moved over his face, his jacket, lingering on his hands clasped loosely before him. He found her gaze at once intrusive and intriguing. How did she see him? "I would think it would be a bit of a double edged sword—don't you remember all of the bad things too?"

 _Sightless eyes stare up at me, blood is sharp on the air, Kolyat's keening cry pierces the night._ "Well, yes. Remembering the times that I have taken a bullet is... unpleasant. But there are other memories too. Memories that are a joy to relive."  _Her hands move like water, colors bleeding across the canvas, taking shape before my eyes._

Shepard's voice was small, distant. Perhaps she had memories of her own that she would like to live in. "It must be easy to lose yourself in them."

Thane was surprised by her insight. "It can be. Especially in moments of sorrow or despair."

Her words were low, almost soothing. "You speak as if from experience."

He was so caught up in the conversation that he responded without thinking. "I have spent much of my life in such a state, save for the short years I spent with Irikah. Those memories sustain me now."

Thane trilled with discontent, hands gripping tightly together. He hadn't meant to say that. Irikah was  _his_  memory, and he did not wish to share her with a human stranger. He suddenly realized the hidden strength of Shepard—she had the uncanny ability to make people feel at ease around her. In the short span of their conversation, she had broken down years of barriers. He felt the danger of her, and was disturbed.

"Irikah?" She was oblivious to his thoughts, pressing forward relentlessly.

"No one of consequence." He knew that she didn't believe him, but to her credit, she did not pursue the matter. "You mentioned an armory, earlier?" It was time to steer the conversation into less troubled waters.

She pushed herself away from the counter, a business-like veneer covering her features. Their casual conversation was now over. "Oh, right. Come on, let's go up a floor. I'll introduce you to people as we go."

He was a bit apprehensive with the thought of meeting perhaps more unpleasant people like Operative Taylor, but he needn't have worried. As Shepard took him around to the various places and people on the ship, everyone kept their opinion of him to themselves; if they disapproved of his occupation, they didn't see the need to make him aware of it. It pleased him—he wanted to be accepted on his merits, not the profession under which he achieved them.

Thane knew that it was going to be difficult to get used to working alongside people—he was quite used to working alone. But that was simply not his reality anymore, and he would have to adapt. The gods smiled upon him in at least allowing that his new companions were accepting of him—some were even quite pleasant—but whether they would prove themselves in battle was an entirely different matter. He would withhold judgment, however, until he had the chance to fight alongside them.

They ended the tour back at his quarters, and he stepped inside. She hesitated on the threshold; he appreciated her decorum. "Please, Shepard, you are welcome to enter."

"Just wanted to ask you if you feel up to joining me on the next excursion." She took a step inside, but still hovered near the entrance. He didn't know if it was because she felt that this was now  _his_  space and she didn't want to disturb him, or if she was anxious to move on with her day. "Sometimes people like to settle in for a few days, and we're landing tomorrow."

"I have already 'settled'." Her eyes moved around the room, regarding its spartan efficiency. "What is the mission?"

She folded her arms across her chest, but it was a relaxed pose. Shepard seemed to be most at ease when the mission was the only thing she spoke about. He didn't blame her—he preferred a straightforward conversation as well. "It's a simple one: we got a message from Cerberus Command—they want us to check out a derelict freighter. There's a high probability that we'll have to fight some Blue Suns mercenaries aboard."

Thane knew why she wanted him along—Shepard needed to see if he was worth the trouble she had gone through in order to bring him aboard. He was pleased with the thought of impressing her. "My arm is yours, Shepard. If you desire my presence during this mission, then I will accompany you. May I ask, what have these mercenaries done in order to warrant our attack?"

Shepard seemed pleased with his question; she graced him with a smile before answering. "The ship doesn't belong to them. They hijacked it and killed everyone aboard—at least, we're assuming by now everyone's dead. That's a lot of innocents we have to avenge."

"Indeed. They will not enjoy their victory for long." He smiled at her, humming low.

"That's the plan. Kelly will forward you the particulars. I look forward to fighting alongside you." Whether or not she intended it, and whether or not he believed it, her final comment was... welcome. He didn't know precisely why—but he did know that, even if he was going to have to work to get used to being on a team, it was pleasant to hear voices speaking to him outside of memory.

She turned to leave, and before Thane could stop himself, he blurted out, "Shepard." She turned back to him, brows knit with confusion. "I... thank you for defending me against your crew member." He felt his frill turn dark at his confession—this Shepard was far too disarming. Or perhaps he was just loosening his carefully constructed control. It upset him. Less than twenty-four hours in her presence, and he was already chattering away like a child. Embarrassing.

But she nodded at him, the corners of her lips quirking up. "Everyone deserves a fair chance. You'll get that chance tomorrow. See you then, Krios."

He bowed low to her, giving her the respect of not lowering his eyes—she was formidable, and he would honor that. "You will see that your faith in me is well-placed."

* * *

 **A/N:**  And we're off to a slow start just like before. I look forward to building the tension. ^_^


	3. The Drowned Phoenician Sailor

The mess hall was empty.

Nothing but the hum of the engines sounded in Thane's ears, and he let out a grateful sigh, moving quickly to rummage through the cupboards in search of sustenance.

It wasn't that he didn't like the crew. Most of them were quite tolerable. It was simply that he didn't like being in crowds. The crew of the Normandy was a noisy bunch, and even while he was sitting in his room with the door closed, deep in meditation, their boisterous laughter could startle him back into awareness. He could move through crowds well enough when he had a target in mind, but when he was bereft of purpose, their constant barrage on his senses grated. It made him feel as though he were too tightly strung, and he could barely concentrate on whatever task was before him—he was constantly searching through the noise, the scents, to head off any attack that would take advantage of the chaotic environment.

The only crowd that he had eventually gotten used to was Irikah's family—and that had been a matter of necessity. They had arranged far too many family gatherings for his taste, and Irikah had dragged him along to all of them. But he eventually adapted to her younger siblings' shrieking laughter, her mother's shrill complaints that the noise would bother the neighbors, and her father's wry jokes that would get them all started again. He had felt... safe amongst them.

Lulled into complacency was more like it. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

So, he secured himself some dried fruit, double checking to make sure they weren't for the turian or quarian, a handful of nuts, and began preparing a cup of tea. Nothing in the mess was specific to drell cuisine, but he had expected that. He had only found approximations of his species' food in major metropolises—the Citadel had one restaurant that tried its best, and Nos Astra had a drell market where he could try (and usually fail) to recreate the dishes that Irikah had made for him. He had been taught how to cook just enough so that he wouldn't starve, and even then he was never very good at it.

Nearly every species he had encountered, though, had some form of tea—his own race included—and he had no problem preparing that. The Normandy, of course, did not have the same blossoms and leaves that he had been used to steeping into a tea while he lived on Kahje, but they did have a strong asari blend that he enjoyed. One of the things that he had been forced to adapt to once he began frequently taking contracts off world was the stark differences in spice—drell foods were far more delicately flavored, simple, subtle. Other species seemed to prefer to drown their dishes in whatever spices they could lay their hands on. He had heard others describe the asari tea he prepared for himself now as quite dainty with light hints of flavor. To him, it tasted strongly of wooded areas, musky and nearly bitter. But he had discovered it to be an acquired taste, and he was happy that the mess hall's stores were stocked with it.

He enjoyed a glass of water while he waited for the tea to steep, preemptively munching on a nut, savoring the calm silence, the sweet solitude... And then Shepard walked in.

Thane couldn't stop the frown from momentarily crossing his features, and if those quick kelp eyes were any indication, his expression had not been lost on his Commander. After the tension they had experienced on the mission earlier that day, he hadn't been particularly eager to see her until he had sorted his own reaction to her style of leadership. He had known that she would seek him out—if for some strange reason she had not, he would have sought her out himself—but he wasn't quite ready to talk about it yet. He had not yet poured over the memories, lingering over every last detail, every last emotion, every last reaction.

"So you're a night owl too." She said by way of greeting, moving past him to get a box of dried something—perhaps grain?—from the larder.

A... night owl. His translator provided him with a mental image of a bird with large eyes and silent wings. A compliment? He wasn't entirely sure. He chose to ignore it. "I thought I heard you eating with the crew earlier." He knew he had. Her laughter had sounded like the wind through the bits of colored glass that had hung outside of his home.

"I'm a biotic." She explained, pouring some of the grain into a bowl, popping a few of the chunks into her mouth. "I'm always hungry." Shepard fixed her bright eyes on his face. "Why didn't you join us?"

It seemed she would not speak to him of the mission. This was welcome. He would use this gift of time to think about things and then approach her later with his conclusions. "I was meditating." He ate a piece of fruit to occupy his mouth.

"Oh. Too bad. We had fun."

 _Her family passes around the bowls; hands are everywhere, arms crisscrossing, interweaving in a complicated dance. I lean back as a hand shoots past my face to give a shaker of spice to the sibling on my right. The sister flashes me a smile and an apology, and I catch Irikah's amused eye across the table._ "Are… are the meals  _always_  that loud?"

Shepard gave a chiming laugh. "We can get a little noisy. Sorry. We didn't disturb you, did we? I can ask the engineers to see what we could do to dampen the noise in your room."

"That will not be necessary." Thane said quietly, tugging at the string for his tea. It was nearly finished steeping.

"I admit I could probably rein them in a bit." Shepard chewed her food thoughtfully. "I would have, back when we were Alliance. But things seem different now."

"Oh?" Thane prompted when she fell silent.

Shepard gave him a pained smile, and part of him wished that he hadn't asked her. He wondered what fractured memories drifted through her mind. How strange it must be to be unsure if what you remember is correct, true, reliable. Did she ever doubt herself? "I can't really describe it. Having meals like that every once in a while is comforting, though. Reminds me of my family; we were all loudmouths. Is your family noisy like that?"

 _I tug at mother's robe, begging for one last lick of the spoon. She taps me on the nose with it, and I scream with laughter._ "No." It is an easier answer.

"Yeah, somehow it doesn't seem like you'd come from a family like that. But my brother was always really quiet too, so I guess you never know." Her eyes were quick, determined. "Do you have any siblings?"

"I have two, as far as I know."

She frowned. "As far as you know?"

Thane steeled himself for a long explanation—those outside of Kahje rarely understood his culture. "I was given to the Compact when I was six years old. I left two younger brothers behind. My parents may have continued to have children after I was gone." He could tell by her knitted eyebrows that she was confused—as he expected—so he continued. "The Compact is a type of arrangement between drell and hanar. The hanar cannot do many things without aid—their bodies are simply not suited for it. Thus, they ask the drell to assist them."

"I read that the drell were transplanted from... Rakhana is it?" At his nod, she continued. "To Kahje. Because of overpopulation?"

He nodded, impressed that she had taken the time to learn at least the basics about his people. "Yes. They saved us from extinction. We repay our debt by aiding them in completing more physical tasks."

Her mouth twisted, as if she had tasted something strange and bitter. "That sounds an awful lot like indentured servitude... one small step away from slavery."

Thane blinked rapidly, distressed by her insinuation. "Do not think so poorly of my people, that we would relinquish our freedom so easily. Serving the hanar through the Compact is not required—anyone can refuse—but many consider it an honor to give their first born to the service. I showed early aptitude for biotics; thus, I was chosen for my current profession."

Eyes widening, Shepard's voice rose, coloring the air with a bright, alarmed ochre that left a sour taste on the back of his tongue. "Wait, so your parents just… gave you up? How could they do that? You said that it was a choice—where did your choice come in?"

"It was considered an honor." He repeated patiently, letting loose a low croon in an attempt to calm her. "When I came of age, if I wanted to leave, I could have."

But she returned to the subject of his parents—it seemed to trouble her quite a bit. "Didn't they love you?"

_She hugs me close to her, so close it almost hurts, and even though she makes no sound, I can feel her tears mix with the rain on my head. "You'll always be my son," her voice turns fierce and tastes of a sharp spice. "Always."_

Thane blinked both sets of eyelids and rumbled his annoyance. "Yes. This is why they gave me to the Compact."

Her eyes searched his face, then dropped down to the floor; she seemed to have caught the emotion he let creep into his voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry into painful memories."

Thane felt himself soften; he had not meant to give the impression that he was unhappy with his past. "I am not offended, Shepard. It does not trouble me to speak of my childhood. Perhaps it may seem unusual to you, but it is normal to me; it is part of my culture. I do not regret it."

Shepard shook her head—it was obvious that even with his assurance, it did not sit well with her. He tried to think of various ways that he could explain it with more success, but he knew that regardless of what he said, humans simply had different beliefs about duty, family, individuality... It was not his place to convince her of the truth in his position, just as it was not her place to attempt to convince him.

She was silent for a moment, and Thane relaxed, content with the thought that they would pass the rest of their time in silence, but after a moment she continued, the tone in her voice becoming firmer, more commanding. It was obvious that she had chosen to change the subject. "Well, anyway, I'm glad I ran into you here. I wanted to talk to you about today's mission."

Thane rumbled his unhappiness, and Shepard looked at his chest. It seemed he would not have his reprieve after all.

_I spot the enemies—five batarians, three of them engineers, two of them common soldiers. I signal the information to my Commander, she nods curtly, and I begin to soundlessly pick my way across the field, happy with the thought that the batarians are so oblivious that they will never notice me, and Shepard suddenly stands up, red hair a bright signal fire, and begins firing into the mess of them, ruining any chance of stealth. I curse, not caring that my teammates can hear me, and drop to one knee, steadying my rifle against my shoulder to catch the kickback as I begin echoing her shots._

"It seems like we had a bit of a disconnect." Shepard said, swallowing her processed grain. "Care to explain?"

The mission, other than his misinterpretation of their tactics, had been a success. And it appeared that she was suggesting that his misinterpretation had been some sort of fault—as if he could have surmised that she would, instead of taking the less chaotic route, choose instead to be as noisy and bothersome as possible. He supposed that he  _should_  have guessed, after her behavior in the Dantius Towers. But, when she had briefed him on the mission, she had simply stated that they were to upset the Blue Suns' operation, take out the commanding officer, and requested that she follow both her and Officer Vakarian's leads. Her accusation annoyed him. "I apologize for not anticipating your wishes. I will adapt to your strategy."

Even as the word strategy left his mouth, he knew that it left bitter sarcasm in the air; part of him regretted it, while the other part settled into a cold stillness. She raised an eyebrow. "I want to hear your opinion, not a platitude. If I can improve my... strategy, I want to hear it."

An interesting reaction. Thane considered his options, feeling himself ease out of his static stance. Here was an employer who requested his opinion on her tactics, but he doubted that she really wanted to know his actual opinion. People who asked for such rarely wanted the truth. When he was younger, an employer had asked him a similar question, and he had not held back. It had led to him getting thrown off of the mission. So, he could  _tell_ the truth and perhaps end up getting fired, or he could just flatter the woman and be done with it.

He decided that his presence on the mission was more important at this moment than his integrity. He could make subtle suggestions later. "It is not your strategy that needs improving." He said, casting his eyes to the ground. "It is always advantageous for me to learn a new way of approaching a situation." The words left a sour taste in his mouth. He abhorred lying, but sometimes it was...

Her scoff brought his eyes back to her face. "You are full of shit." She said, setting her bowl on the counter. "Why won't you tell me?"

Thane disliked her prying almost as much as he disliked her strategy. He was  _trying_  to avoid creating any problems. She was making that rather difficult. "Many people do not wish to hear their way of thinking challenged by another."

"You think I have some sort of ego to bruise?" She folded her arms across her chest. "I don't know if you've noticed, but we have an army of Reapers to stop and hundreds of thousands of colonists to prevent from being captured. My ego is the  _last_  thing on my mind."

Thane considered her, leaning back on the counter, crossing his legs at his ankles. Her sarcastic words had brought a smile to his face, but he was unsure if she really meant it or if she was just playing a role. Finally, he tentatively chose a middle route. "I am used to working alone, Shepard, and when I work, if I directly engage anyone other than my target, it means I have made a mistake. What we did today was... different."

Shepard nodded slowly, looking down at his feet before returning her eyes to his face. "I see what you mean. And I admit that the thought of you being too used to working alone was the one thing that made me hesitant about recruiting you."

Thane felt his eyes widen in alarm, and he let out a high trill of anxiety—was she about to relieve him of his duty? He couldn't go back to picking off a slaver here, a drug lord there, not when he had a taste of what it would be like to work on a mission of this scale. He  _needed_  this.

But she continued. "You did adapt, though. I could tell that you didn't like what we did, but once you saw how we moved across the field, you settled in alongside as if you had worked with us from day one. Garrus was particularly impressed." Shepard regarded her fingernails, flicking her gaze back and forth between him and her hands. "So, any fear that I had was alleviated."

Thane felt muscles he didn't know had tensed relax one by one. He realized now that what she had done was purposeful—she had deliberately been vague about their plan of attack today in order to see how well he would adapt to strange situations. While he was slightly put off by the thought that she would be so reckless, he also had to begrudgingly admit to himself that it was a good idea—they were up against an unprecedented danger, and she  _did_  have to have the best. He wondered what would have happened if he had failed her expectations. "I also understand what you mean about not engaging foes without cause." Shepard tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She was a very fidgety human. "But you have to understand that this isn't like a normal contract for you—or at least, what I think would be normal. We aren't going after only one target. And if we only eliminate the leader, another will take its place. Unfortunately, we have to adopt a bit of a scorched earth policy." She caught his gaze and held him there. "Do you understand?"

Regardless of her expressed regret, Thane knew the truth.  _Shining kelp eyes, teeth like white caps, she glides through the crates like the fingers of the ocean slipping through the tide pools. In, out, all denizens at her mercy, granting death instead of life to all she touches._  She enjoyed it. But he did understand her justification. "Yes. Of course. This mission is different from any I have participated in, but have no fear—I will not disappoint you."

She flashed him a smile. "I know that you won't. I'm glad you're with us on this mission, Krios."

"I am happy to be here, Shepard." He watched her leave, her slender human form so unimposing without its armor, finally turning back to his tea when she rounded the corner to summon the lift.

It had steeped too long; the steam was bitter and old. He let out a long, regretful sigh and poured it out, moving to boil some new water.

* * *

 **A/N:**  Oh man, I'm so sorry about the delay. End of the semester grading just took all of my time—but they're submitted, and the semester is over, so updates should occur quite regularly over the summer. Thanks for still sticking around!


	4. Then Spoke the Thunder

He stood, arm halfway extended, but Shepard left him without a backward glance, disappearing around the corner to presumably take the lift as far away from him as possible. Thane stayed there for a moment before deciding that he looked like a fool and slumped back down in his chair, wrapping both hands around his cup of tea. Her cup still steamed across from him, abandoned in her hasty flight.

_Her mouth twists around the word "Assassin" like it tastes bitter. I wince inwardly, but continue "...we need someone to save us from ourselves." She recoils from my words, and I can tell that I am pushing her too hard, too far, but I can't stop. Can't stop. I need to know more, need to understand. "Why?" It's too much, and she shoves back from me as if I have tried to strike her._

Thane had spent nearly three weeks aboard the Normandy now, and he had thought that he had everyone figured out. Most of his fellow crew mates were quite easy to understand, in fact.

_Miranda Lawson: obsesses with the thought of perfection—even more preoccupied with the concept than he is—desperate to fill the role she was created for, unaware or unwilling to understand that the gods look most favorably on those that forge their own destinies. Puppet to the Illusive Man, professing her ultimate loyalty to him even as her conscience needles her. Thane is willing to put credits on the fact that she speaks in her sleep._

_Jacob Taylor: outwardly unassuming, everyone dismisses him, and that is the way he likes it. Spends all of his time in the armory; sees the world in a series of false dilemmas, either/or, black/white. Still loves Ms. Lawson; his eyes follow her whenever she's in the room. She pretends not to notice._

_Jack: Subject Zero. Cocoons herself in arrogance and aggression, but he sees the way Shepard gets to her, sees the uncertainty that dances behind angry eyes. She has set up a sort of definition for how one in her situation is supposed to act, and she adheres to that with a fanaticism that borders on fatalistic. Even while sleeping she frowns._

_Mordin Solus: aloof, appears disinterested except regarding those matters that will help his research; conscience unaffected by past work, but if that were completely true then why does he spend so much time defending? Explaining? He needs to feel accepted, needs to feel forgiven. When that desire will finally, completely manifest itself, it is uncertain. Also... sings parodied versions of Earth show tunes when he thinks he's alone._

_Grunt: young, brash, everything a child should be except he wields a shotgun with expert precision. Another victim of fluctuating identity, he struggles to reconcile the memories that were implanted by his creator and his own emerging character. Wants to be independent, wants to be perfect (another one of those). Tests the authority of Shepard, as most young krogan do to their superiors. Becoming more unstable as of late—will keep watch on personality developments._

_Garrus Vakarian: an unflinching ally of Shepard, looks to her with an awed respect that perhaps creates an unwelcome bias. Carries wounds both physical and mental. Might have tried to live up to Shepard's idealistic memory after she had died; has failed in his mind, and now settles back in an old role that allows for no growth. Did not take the shot._

_Shepard..._

Well, he thought he knew her. She enjoyed carnage, enjoyed the hunt, but her command genius was unparalleled, and she had a peculiar way of uniting so many different personalities aboard one ship that was quite praiseworthy. She was ruthlessly efficient, and relentlessly pursued her goal, something that he admired, even as he took issue with her means of accomplishing the mission. He had been content to merely agree to disagree with her—she was a means to an end, his end, and he would stick with her regardless of how he might be uncomfortable with their strategy.

He had thought that she lived without regret, without mercy, but then... Thane would have taken the shot. Sidonis needed to die—he had betrayed all of his comrades, and alive he continued to be a liability. But, Shepard... Shepard had...

_Laser dot trembles on the skull. Smell of gun grease on the stale air. Kelp eyes defiant in the scope._

Thane blinked rapidly, running his hands, warm from the tea, over the ridges on his head, trying to shake himself of the memory. She had talked Garrus down, all the while interposing herself in the line of fire, aware that at any moment he could take the shot anyway, decide that she left enough of an opening to her left, and she would be splattered with blue blood and gore, screams piercing the air around her...

Thane had felt himself reach that wonderfully still place while in the shadows behind Garrus, seeing the thick talon on the trigger, knowing that if the turian had squeezed only a fraction more that it would be the last thing Garrus remembered before he woke up in the Normandy's medbay. But, he needn't have worried. Shepard saved the conscience of her errant turian friend, yet even after the situation was resolved and Shepard and Garrus talked quietly in the seats in front of him, Thane still found himself confused by it.

Why had she done it? Why had she stepped in front of the shot? Why did she remind him so much of...?

He  _had_  to know. He  _had_  to understand. Thus, he had followed her to the mess hall, secured her presence through the cup of tea, and proceeded to steer the conversation toward the answer he sought. But she had left without satisfying him, and he knew that if he followed her, if he pursued it now, she would withdraw completely from him. He couldn't allow that.

In fact, that was another point that confused him. Why did she even care to keep that information to herself? What image did she think she had to hold up for him? And which was the real Shepard? Was it the Shepard who reveled in the killing, or was it the Shepard who saved the souls of the innocent, who put herself in danger so that others might live? Or was it some strange mixture of both, some odd combination of revelry and guilt, of gluttony and regret?

He felt himself...  _My boots slap through the rain slicked alleys, following their twists and turns until the suburbs begin to fade away and the air is more open and buildings are more lonely. A light is on, casting colored reflections on the ground through the crimson, blue, orange, green glass on her doorstep that tinkles every time a raindrop hits them. Rain pours down my face, soaks my clothes; I shiver, wildly regretting my impulsiveness before my finger rings the bell repeatedly, and then she's there, golden light framing her slight form, eyes wide with surprise, and I fall to my knees._

He felt that now, again, sharply familiar even after years of sleep, years of apathy. A large part of him was disgusted with himself (even as a smaller part thrilled at the almost painful awakening of those portions of his mind long dormant, portions that he thought had died with Irikah on their living room floor)—how dare he allow this now, at the end of all things, at the moment when he needed to  _not_   _care_  the most.

There was also the matter of... He had awakened before only once. She had whispered sweet melodies to him, and he had followed his Irikah with all the devotion that a goddess made flesh deserved. It disturbed him that his first memory of her was now tainted with another. Why were the situations so similar? What did it mean? What were the gods doing to him, throwing this in his path now? He had accepted, had come to terms, and... and...

He absentmindedly brought the cup of tea to his lips, recoiling when he discovered it had gone cold. Wasteful.

Unwilling to reheat the tea, he gathered the cups together, mechanically going through the motions of dumping the tepid tea and washing them in the sink. But the water felt deliciously cool on his hands, and for a moment, he delighted in its touch, mind lifted from its tortured thoughts for the barest second as he thought of rain and coolness and the music of drip drop drip and slick hands in his and...

"Not going to hog the sink  _all_  night, are you?"

Thane shut the water off, drying his hands on a nearby towel, turning to see the turian. "My apologies."

"No problem." Garrus filled a glass of water for himself, and Thane watched in fascination as he swallowed it down. "I came over here to see you, actually." He scratched at his fringe, and Thane clasped his hands behind his back, waiting for him to continue. He turned over the possibilities for the turian's conversation—perhaps he was annoyed that Thane had been there today, perhaps he would ask him to not mention it again, perhaps he would... "I'm... well... I guess thanks for coming along today, and I'm sorry that you had to, uh... deal with that."

Thane blinked. How unexpected. "Oh." He let loose a low rumble. "It was no trouble." He hesitated a moment. "I am glad that Shepard was there for you."

Garrus flared his mandibles, giving him the turian equivalent of a shy grin. "Yeah, she's always... what is that human phrase? Pulling my fat out of the fire?"

Thane allowed a small smile to cross his features. "Humans do have the strangest idioms." He suddenly saw an opportunity and went for it. "You have known her for quite some time, have you not?"

Garrus made that strangely pleasing hybrid of a purr and hum that was unique to his species. "We've been through a lot. She's... taught me a lot. I think without her I'd be a different person. A... harder person." He snorted. "Perhaps a better turian."

Thane leaned against the counter. "How do you mean?"

Garrus copied his relaxed position, bracing one taloned foot against the cabinet door under the sink. "I thought I would be really angry with her for awhile, you know. But I got to thinking that this wasn't the first time she's..." His mandibles fluttered. "There was this other guy, a salarian. She stopped me from killing him too. Different circumstances, different outcome, but the basic lesson was the same. I guess I didn't learn too well the first time." He ran his talons absentmindedly over the plates on his arm. "I'll have to try to be a better student."

Thane let out a low hum, the only betrayal of his keen interest. "Shepard... she inspires many to be greater than they are. It seems to be a gift that she possesses."

Garrus clicked his agreement. "All of the old crew, we're all better people because we served under her."

Thane was quiet for a moment, considering his companion's words. Interesting that a member of a species so new to the galaxy could influence so many to be greater than they were, to realize their potential and then achieve it. "Perhaps I will be able to learn something from her as well."

"If there's one lesson she's taught me that  _did_  stick, it was that we're only done learning when we're dead."

"Well, then I suppose I had better be a quick pupil." Garrus gave a few awkward clicks as he got Thane's joke, and Thane gave him a rueful smile, sorry that he had given in to his dark wit. Irikah had always scoffed at him when he...

"Yeah. Anyway." Garrus rubbed at the scars on his face again—an obvious nervous habit. "So, thanks again for putting up with me. I hope Shepard pairs us up again for future missions. Some of the others... well, they're good, but they're a bit... jumpy. Things are calmer when you're along."

Thane blinked, feeling himself smile. "That is very kind of you to say. I, too, enjoy working with you, Officer Vakarian."

He laughed. "Oh, please. Officer Vakarian was my father. Just call me Garrus."

Thane gave a small bow. "As you wish." He could see why the turian was well-liked. He was quite personable—sometimes members of his race had a tendency to be a bit abrupt for most species' taste. It probably had something to do with their focus on the military. But Garrus perhaps (and by his own admission) was not the best representative turian. Thane found it refreshing.

Garrus clapped him on the shoulder, moving past to return to the battery. "See you around, Thane."

"Good night, Garrus." He watched the turian leave, crossing his arms over his chest, tucking his hands under his armpits to ward off a sudden chill. Garrus' outlook on the commander was… interesting. But ultimately it was still unsatisfactory, for it did not simplify Shepard's character—it complicated it.

She was…

" _Is there anything I can do to help? With Mordin and Chakwas I'm sure we can…" My chest tightens painfully, and I have to look away from her compassionate eyes. "No… no, thank you."_

_She snaps his neck with ease, firing into a flammable canister and grinning wildly when it catapults charred corpses across the field. Her feral eyes light on me, and I find myself taken in by her fierce joy._

…A study in contradiction.

Her touch alternately brought life and death, and like the old gods, it was impossible to tell which she would bring to you. He remembered the ancient tales, incarnations of previous generations of gods that were at once chaotic and beautiful, frightening and inspiring. Shepard, with her vicious grins and her gentle words, was as unfathomable to him as the Old Ones.

He wondered what it would have been like to fight at her side when she stood against Saren. Had she been as strangely compelling then? Garrus seemed to think so.

_The newsnets drone at me in the elevator. "Today the galaxy comes together to mourn the loss of its first human Spectre…"_

How strange that he should now serve under the same woman whose face he had watched fill the vids, hair like an angry sun, skin like bleached sand. But the gods did not present him with situations without reason.

He pushed away from the counter, padding back to his quarters, locking the door and kneeling down on the floor. He shed his jacket, a customary gesture to feel the sun on one's skin, even if it was useless here. Thane took a deep breath and expanded his throat for the first notes of the chant. There was a reason. There was something he was supposed to learn from this. His eyes stared, half-lidded but unseeing, now looking inward to see what answers the gods would provide to his prayers.

* * *

 **A/N:**  Mmm, another one. Not much Shepard, but bonus Garrus! I always look forward to the point in my ME2 runs when I finally have both Thane and Garrus on my team-they are my default team from that point on. I think they would be good friends-they could have friendly little sniper competitions. ^_^


	5. Filled the Desert with Inviolable Voice

The gods had been frustratingly silent. Thane spent every evening in earnest prayer, but they had offered nothing until several nights ago when they sent Shepard in his path while he was moving through his forms in the Starboard Observation room. He had taken the opportunity to ask her to practice with him, and to his satisfaction, their sparring removed much of the social anxiety she had appeared to experience since he had pushed her too far with his questions in the mess.

She was a hopeless case, not suited to the grace and subtlety of his chosen art—too used to her own standard military judo with its vicious holds and reliance on grappling. It wasn't that his form was so very unique to his own species; in fact, it was quite similar to a Southern style of kung fu on Earth, but it called for a sort of sinuous grace that came naturally to few and had to be intensely practiced by many. Yet he had to admit that he had been as diverted by their sparring as she was—at least, she had seemed to enjoy it, and he had liked teaching her. It was strange to be in such close contact with a human without intending to kill her; they were so soft, almost delicate. Shepard's armor hid the lightness of her frame, the ease with which she could be dispatched. But he knew that she was not weak—her supple human body contained a strength and determination that gave even Krogan warlords pause.

Thus, if anything, his respect for her martial prowess grew, even though she would not be a good student of his form. But the night had brought him no closer to understanding her character, and it was that part of her that interested him the most. He had not been able to pin her down since the night they sparred together—she was always so busy with her own affairs—and attempts to ask Garrus more about her had been stymied by an apparent never-ending need for calibrations. Thane had started to wonder if Garrus used that as a convenient way to avoid conversation entirely, for it seemed ridiculous that the machinery would need to be calibrated every single day. Frustrating.

And as Joker was hardly a reliable source (he liked to exaggerate a great deal) and asking Chakwas meant he would have to submit to another medical examination (which he was not inclined to do) and everyone else aboard the Normandy was just as familiar with Shepard as he was (that is, not at all), there seemed to be no other option except to wait for Shepard to finally stop flitting to and fro and settle down for a quiet moment.

The gods granted him that moment late that night—he was reclining on his bed, hands folded across his bare chest, nearly settling into sleep, thoughts drifting pleasantly toward…

_Her back is to me; she's arranging her paints, the collar of her robe is loose and dips low, exposing a cerulean line of skin between her shoulders. I wrap my arms around her, burying my face in the back of her neck, breathing in her scent, and she purrs her delight as I whisper her name against warm scales; she twists in my arms to face me, placing one paint speckled hand against my face, her smile gentle and sweet…_

Clinking dishes in the mess teased him back into awareness. Thane frowned, the lingering feeling of Irikah's touch still soft on his senses. He allowed himself to let loose a full yawn, stretching out on the cot as he listened closely to the sounds, trying to determine who it was. Being up this late was uncharacteristic for most of the crew members except… Thane had no real reason to think that it was Shepard, but he knew that she hadn't eaten earlier in the evening with the rest of the crew, and a part of him insisted that it was she—he had learned long ago to listen to those quiet whispers in the back of his mind. He wanted to shut her out, to block out the sounds of her meal preparation and sink back down into memory, letting the murmurs of remembered sighs and soft words carry him into sleep as he did every night. But… he could not simply let this opportunity pass him by, could not resist getting up and confirming his suspicion that Shepard was indeed there. He heaved a deep sigh (ignoring the slight hitch in his lungs as he did so), annoyed with himself for yielding to his curiosity and Shepard for being far too interesting for him to ignore. So, he got up, zipped up his vest and shrugged on his jacket—the mess was always too cold—and walked out to get some tea.

Shepard leaned against the counter as she waited for her food to heat up, staring blankly at the cupboard in front of her, her mind clearly somewhere else. She looked tired—her eyes were shadowed and weary, and he missed their usual bright quickness. Her skin was paler than usual, reminding him of a wan moon, and she had tucked her hands under her armpits—perhaps she was cold as well. His eyes automatically raked over her body—there was no tell-tale bulge of a concealed pistol, although he supposed that she could have a slim blade tucked away somewhere. Not in her hair, it was too short. More likely was that she did not carry a weapon at all, which he thought foolish since she still did not appear to fully trust her Cerberus crew. At this moment, however, she did not seem to be a vicious killer or feared opponent. She simply appeared… exhausted.

He hesitated a moment, suddenly unwilling to intrude. This was most likely the only moment all day that she had to herself, and he was about to burst in on it, ruining her silence—and only for his own selfish need for knowledge. He knew the importance of being alone with one's thoughts, and he did not want to deprive her of her introspection. Thane took one step backward, beginning a retreat back to his quarters, when she suddenly turned her head to look at him, favoring him with a small smile. "Hey Krios."

He couldn't leave now—there was no way he could back out without it being awkward and strange—so he halted his withdrawal, clasping his hands behind his back. "Shepard. You are up late." He cringed inwardly. What a painfully obvious observation.

But she didn't seem to notice his lack of eloquence. "Yeah. Too much to do today. I'm just glad I found some time to eat before I passed out in my cabin." Her eyes traveled up and down his form. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Yes, I ate earlier." He stepped forward, securing the kettle. "I actually came to make a cup of tea. I could make one for you too, if you like."

But she shook her head. "Oh, if I have one right now I'll be up for another couple of hours."

"Ah yes… the caffeine?" Thane had heard about how this stimulant affected humans. Unfortunately there had been little to it that he could exploit for his contracts, so he had dismissed it as inconsequential.

"Yeah." She pursed her lips as Thane filled the kettle, and he had the sense that she was about to change her mind. "Oh, go on then, I'll have a small one." Thane shot a sideways glance at her, lips quirking in amusement. "I love that tea. I'm going to be jealous the whole time you're drinking it if I don't get one too."

"As you wish." He sat the kettle on the stove. "Have you practiced any of the forms I taught you?"

Her skin turned a pale coral. "Oh… yeah. Actually, I have. Watching myself in the mirror in my cabin. I don't think I've made any considerable improvement, though." She retrieved her food from the warmer, setting it on the counter. She apparently intended to eat right there.

He smiled, pleased with the mental image of Shepard fumbling through the set as she studied her reflection. It was a delightfully absurd contrast to the infallible Commander he served in the field. "I would be happy to give you more lessons when you have the time."  _Her sweat salts the air, she flows like the push and pull of the tide_ _, her breath coming in short gasps as I count off the set, moving with her, faster, faster, faster..._

Her words yanked him back into the present. "Why? So you can mock me again for being hopeless?"

Her face was hard, lips set in a grim line, and Thane raised an eyeridge, turning his wrists to her, afraid he had offended her. Perhaps he had been too free with his humor. "I did not intend to mock you, Shepard, I…"

But she waved her hand, expression breaking into a smile. "I was joking." She chuckled. "Besides, I got you back at the end."

Thane let loose a pleased hum, relieved that he had not made a mistake again. "That you did. Although I still question the validity of your victory."

Shepard shrugged, twirling her fork in pale long things—they looked like worms, but he thought they might be… noodles. Perhaps they were related to that ramen 'delicacy' sold on the Citadel (he had his doubts about its status as an Earth delicacy after seeing that the only patrons were non-humans and Citadel University students). Regardless, they reminded him of a particularly disgusting hanar dish that he had been forced to eat as a child. "Victory is victory." She put the noodles (or worms) in her mouth, and he suppressed a grimace.

The kettle began to whistle, and he turned to attend to it, glad to have an excuse not to look at her worm noodles anymore. "That is a very practical outlook."

"Don't you share it?" Shepard said around a bite. "I would think that an assassin would have to be practical."

He noted with satisfaction that her voice did not color the air with its usual bitterness when she voiced his profession. Instead he tasted only a sweet, subtle curiosity. "I am, and I do share your view. I admire that about you."

She raised an eyebrow in turn, a tiny smirk playing on her lips. "Oh, do you?"

He poured the water into their respective cups. "Yes. The gods have clearly favored me by allowing our paths to cross."

Thane slid her cup over to her, and she murmured her thanks before saying, "I've meant to ask you about that. About your gods." She gave him a quick, almost nervous, glance. "Does that bother you? If it's too personal, then nevermind."

Thane, admittedly, was a bit taken aback by her request. He had no idea why she would care about his faith. But he would not deny her knowledge. "It is not too personal. What do you wish to know?" His voice was soft, a light purr sounding at the end to put her at ease.

Shepard relaxed a bit, wrapping both hands around her tea in an apparent attempt to warm them. "When we first met, you prayed for Nassana. Who did you pray to?"

 _Warm incense, shadows behind screens, chimes of iridescent glass bells taking my song past the clouds to the sun._  "In that moment, I prayed to Kalihira; She rules over the oceans and afterlife. Even though one might argue that Nassana deserved her fate, she still required safe passage to the sea."

Shepard's brow furrowed. "Oceans and afterlife… I don't quite see the connection."

Thane took a cautious sip of his tea before answering. It traveled warm down his body, and he felt himself relax even further with the heat. "Consider—the ocean is full of life, but not as we know it. One must give up their hold on land in order to exist in its depths. It is the same with life—one must relinquish control of the body before we are allowed to join those who traveled before us to the sea."

"Hmm. I think I understand." Shepard seemed to quietly ponder it a bit more before backtracking to what he said earlier. "You said 'in that moment.' Are drell pantheistic, then?"

Thane inclined his head to acknowledge her. "It is an oversimplification to say that drell are pantheistic. My species did, originally, follow multiple gods. But now many of us embrace the hanar Enkindlers or asari philosophies."

She ran a slim finger down a light scar on her arm. He couldn't stop his eyes from following it. He wondered if she had the same intricate web all over her body. Human skin was so monochrome, so… boring. He found her scars interesting, like the faint stripes and speckles that adorned his species. "Who are your other gods?"

Thane snapped his gaze back to her face. "We have many. But we, those of us who still sing the old ways, choose to follow certain gods that are more attuned to our particular path in life. Personally, I follow Kalihira, as I mentioned; Amonkira, Lord of Hunters; and Arashu, goddess of motherhood and protection." He hummed a brief note to honor them—Shepard did not react; it must have been too low for her to hear. "That is not to say that I do not pay my respects to the others, but I have a much closer relationship with my patron god and goddesses. They act through me—is there not a similar belief in your Hinduism? When I perform their will, they descend into flesh; I act as an avatar."

She leaned forward, quick eyes darting over his face like fish in the shallows. "So, what you do, the contracts you take, it is their will?"

"If it were not, then I would not succeed." He said simply. "I pray for success, guidance, and I am rewarded by their divinity gracing my actions." _Blessed light of Amonkira guides my hand; everything Master said is true, and I am almost weeping from the overwhelming presence of Him; I am touched by His grace, feel it prick my scales, caress my spine, make my blood sing; my blade moves without thought and the target dies, surrendered to the ever-hungry Kalihira._

Shepard nodded, and her small tongue darted out to wet her lips. "I haven't exactly devoted my life to studying alien theology, but from what I have read, it seems like most species lose their attachment to their original faiths when they begin to branch out in the universe. I always thought that was strange—why would you give up what defines you at the moment that your identity is threatened?" It appeared to be a rhetorical question, for she followed it up with something else. "Why do you follow them, especially when many of your people do not?"

 _My fingers linger across her growing belly, and I let the charm I wove out of sea grass and a bright blue stone dangle from its string in front of her. Her sunset eyes catch mine and she smiles. "For you_ — _Arashu's grace will bless you and the little one." She takes it from me and ties it around her neck; I kiss her forehead, secure in the knowledge that Arashu will always protect Her own._ Thane touched his middle fingers together, intrigued by Shepard's obvious interest in the matter. She certainly did not fit into the stereotypical soldier mould—the type that thought of nothing except orders and duty. She could actually hold a conversation. It was… refreshing. "I was born into it." He explained. "My mother is a descendant of a long line of priestesses, and we regularly performed the rituals during my childhood."  _I whine as Mother pulls me in out of the rain, stops me from playing_ lahafar _with Lekat and Merin, and she scolds me for neglecting Her. "Your inattention to She who gives you all is shameful, Thane Krios. Have you forgotten your duty? Have you forgotten your teachings?" Her words silence me, fill me with repentance, and I kneel before our altar, my throat swelling with the first notes of the song as I trace the edges of Her image carved into the ground with reverent fingers._   _Mother's light voice joins mine, and we thank Arashu for another day on this planet so blessed with water._

"Thane?"

He blinked, suddenly aware that he had drifted off. Shepard eyed him curiously—how long had he simply stood there? He felt his throat flush hot, and he cast his eyes to the ground. "I apologize. I was... remembering." He hummed low to clear his throat and continued. "When I was given to the Compact… I continued. It was, I suppose, a way to remain connected to all that I was. And as I grew older, it came to define who I am. None of the other religions or philosophies I have studied have provided the same mystery and connection that my own faith does."

She nodded, but it seemed an absentminded gesture rather than a genuine response to what he was saying. He had the sense that she was filing all of this information away—what good she hoped it would bring to her, he had no idea. "A lot of religions frown on killing." She suddenly said, getting that nervous look in her eyes again, as if she was afraid she would offend him. "But you seem to have express permission from your gods to do what you do. Do all of them share that view, or are there disagreements in your pantheon?"

She did not have to worry about offending him. He had endured far ruder questions. For that matter, he rather appreciated her pointed attempt to speak of his gods as actually  _living_ —most discussed them as if they were only myth and legend. That sort of attitude irritated him to no end. "It is not a question so much of the gods as how drell view the body and the soul. Humans have similar views, do they not? That the body is one part of the self and the soul is the other? The body is the vessel for the soul, and the soul is of a purer essence, closer to divinity." He took a drink before continuing. "Thus, drell recognize that the actions of the body do not always reflect the will of the soul. One's body can perform an action that the soul takes no part of. There is no will behind it. Only motion. Only action. Not decision. For example, one does not hold the gun responsible for killing; rather, one blames the actor behind it." He caught her eyes. "Do you understand?"

Shepard tucked scarlet hair behind her ear, pink mouth turning into a frown. "I think it's a strange metaphor. A gun does not have free will. I don't see how you can divorce free will from the body. You could argue that it is separate, yes, but the soul that resides in it ultimately makes the decision to move. The body does not move without the soul's direction."

He blinked both sets of eyelids, feeling a slight flutter in his chest as he offered a swift counter. "Does it not? What of the times, Shepard, when you act on instinct? Do you claim that those times are willed by your soul?"

Her eyes were bright with interest, the shadows that clung around them long since chased away by her sharp curiosity. "Yes, but defending myself from an attack is different from taking a contract. One is for survival, and the other is not."

Her mouth was set with determination, her flashing eyes piercing with intensity. He found himself responding with the same enthusiasm, a burst of passion that he hadn't experienced in any interaction in a long time. "I feed myself from the credits I receive from those contracts—is this not also survival?"

Shepard smiled and shook her head. "There is always a choice."

Thane smiled back at her, amused by their debate. It had been so long since he had conversed with someone about something other than business… He felt as if a part of his mind that had atrophied was now stung awake, and he enjoyed it immensely. He even rather enjoyed the fact that she obviously disagreed with him—it made their dialogue much more interesting. "Of course, just as you have the choice to take a bullet rather than put one in the head of the one who seeks to kill you."

But then Shepard looked at him from behind hooded eyes, and he had trouble figuring out exactly what her expression meant. For a dreadful moment he thought he might have offended her again, and he frowned at the thought of her withdrawing, depriving him of the opportunity to unravel her twisting thoughts and strange mind. After a moment of silence, during which she seemed to ponder their discussion, he ventured a question of his own. Either she would leave and dislike him, or she would stay and continue to engage him. "And you, Shepard? Humans hold many varied beliefs."

She laughed, shaking her head. Thane was relieved that she appeared unfazed by their discussion. Religion and philosophy always had the potential to cause problems, and he could not yet predict Shepard's reactions. "Yeah, that's a bit of an understatement. Me, personally…" She took a sip, perhaps to delay her response. "I don't really believe in anything. I was raised in a religion like you, but after… well, I was never really that fervent in my beliefs, and after I left Mindoir, I stopped altogether."

Thane knew what struggle she had glossed over, and it pained him. Who did not know of Commander Shepard's struggles as a mere girl, a child, the lone survivor of everything that she had known and loved? He could see the echoes of sorrow in her eyes, and for one brief, sharp moment, he felt the sadness as if it were his own. They had both lost so much, endured so much. But she had suffered more—losing her precious faith, tenuous though she had called it, was a devastating concept to him.

She had kept talking in his silence. It seemed as though she wanted to move on from that memory as soon as she could. "It's funny that you ask me—I served with a soldier, Ashley Williams, and we had almost the same conversation that we're having now."

Thane remembered reading about that as well… but the death of Williams was probably not the most tactful subject he could bring up at the moment. "And her answer, I suppose, was similar to mine?"

Shepard shrugged—an attempt to appear nonchalant even though Thane could see her thoughts like storm waves crash behind her eyes. "Pretty much. I mean, she had believed in a monotheistic religion, but faith is faith, right?"

"Perhaps." Thane hesitated a moment. He shouldn't press her, he knew this, but he couldn't help it. He wanted to  _know_. "I suppose in the spirit of fairness, it would be acceptable if I asked you, then, without your faith, how you personally absolve yourself of the killings? Do you, too, follow a certain philosophy?" He hoped that her answer would help solve at least some of the contradictory personality she seemed to have. How was it that she seemed to enjoy the killing but also sought to avoid death? How was it that she seemed to value life but take it away so easily?

Shepard was quiet for a long moment. "…No."

Thane blinked, confused. He hadn't expected her to give such a short, simplistic answer that allowed for no real further discussion. "But surely you must…"

"No, Krios, I don't have a convenient philosophy to help me justify it all away." He could hear the anger in her voice, and he flashed his wrists to her, humming low.

"I did not mean to offend you." He tried to catch her green eyes and succeeded, holding her there, trying to make her understand.

She sighed, and her anger seemed to dissipate. "You didn't. Maybe I'm just a bit jealous of your ability to sleep at night."

 _Broken glass crunches under my feet; the smell of blood crawls up my tongue and down my throat. Blue skin mottled with bruises. Her eyes, her eyes, the fire is gone._  A perfect memory made for excellent nightmares, actually, especially when the fodder was so ripe with horror. She oversimplified his situation, but he saw no real need to correct her, especially not now when he was being relatively successful in getting her to speak about herself. "Why do you let it haunt you? Why do you punish yourself?"

She folded her arms tightly across her chest. "If I don't, who will? I may be removing evil, but I'm still using evil in order to do that. Instead of being punished, I am praised."

Thane tilted his head at her, memories of old conversations drifting like bubbles through his mind, popping at the surface. He steered his thoughts from them, unwilling to think of that now. "You assume that punishment is required. Even if you believe that your soul is committing these actions, there is still merit in taking on such burdens for the greater good of your fellow beings. We praise you because you deserve it."

Her smile had no humor in it. "I'm glad you think that, really I am, but it doesn't help all that much."

He felt his throat expand ever so slightly to hum at her. "No, I suppose it would not."

"And," She continued as if she hadn't heard him. "I think it's important. Feeling this way, I mean. If I start to forget that what I do is wrong, then what separates me from those I fight against?"

Thane stared down into his tea for a moment. Shepard was… even more complicated than he thought. He did not understand the need to punish the self for actions that one had no control over. What was the alternative, after all? To allow darkness to consume the galaxy? Why did she feel such self-loathing for doing good? How did she feel after experiencing the joy she had on the battlefield? "Shepard, do you truly feel that what you do is an evil?"

She avoided his eyes, instead tracing her finger along the lip of her cup. "Killing is always an evil. We just find ways to justify it."

His eyes followed that slender digit, so pale, so fragile, a translucent seashell. "And if killing someone means that others may live?"

"Can we ever celebrate a death?" She asked, a hint of challenge in her voice even as she kept her eyes trained on the cup before her. He knew, though, that his answer would mean much to her. "Can we ever feel joy at the loss of a life?"

"I..." Thane began, but then he found that he did not know how to respond, not merely because he wanted to avoid disappointing her but also because he truly did not know the answer. "I do not know." He had thought much on his career, especially after... but he had not considered it in this light. It was always a given that some simply...  _had_  to die. And delivering those souls to Kalihira was the gods' will.

"I don't expect you to share my opinion. I don't think many would—it's a product of a lot of things that have happened in my life." She met his eyes now, and it was he who wanted to look away, yet he forced himself to keep her gaze. "I think life is a constant battle to escape one's past, don't you? But, our past creates our present—we are who we are because of what has happened to us. I guess the point is that we can't allow it to force us down certain paths; we should only use it to view these paths in a light that is unique to ourselves."

"I..." Thane was not enjoying this new found loss for words. He had not met someone who challenged his thoughts like this in quite some time. It was that distantly familiar feeling of aporia that he both welcomed and hated. "You have given me much to think about, Shepard."

Her kelp eyes were bright with some emotion he could not identify. "Well, I hope it doesn't keep you from sleep tonight." She began saying goodbye to him, but Thane could only murmur a distracted response as she walked away. He was still confused, perhaps even more so now than he was when he had first initiated this conversation.

Her wish would not be granted—the rest of the night would be spent deep in thought.

* * *

 **A/N:**  These two like to talk. A lot. Thanks as always to my delightful beta, who helps me tease out little scenes I didn't even know were there. ^_^


	6. Fear in a Handful of Dust

Tuchanka was hot. Hot and dusty. A constant arid wind stirred sand and silt, and the pitiless sun seemed to reach down from the cloudless sky and press a heavy hand upon the world; everyone bowed under its weight.

Thane  _loved_  it.

He had been on the planet several times before Shepard had asked him to come along with Grunt and her. Each time he had reveled in the oppressive heat, the feel of a fine layer of dust coating his scales, and if the planet hadn't been populated with its current residents (and perhaps if it was not as covered with rubble), he wouldn't have minded an extended stay—at least longer than the few days he had spent on it before.

His human commander did not seem to share his opinion, though. Her sweat salted the air only moments after they landed, and her skin seemed to take on a permanent pinkish hue—although he rather liked that color on her. He knew that some humans lived in desert environments on Earth, but he also knew that Shepard did not hail from such a climate—she was not acclimated to such surroundings. It made her irritable—a permanent frown settled on her features, and when the krogan guarding the landing pad offered snide comments about Grunt, she had snapped back at them, prompting Thane to step in to offer a few calming words as he ushered her along. No sense in angering their hosts within the first five minutes—although he had no doubt that eventually they would (with Shepard it sometimes seemed unavoidable; even when she was at her most diplomatic, situations tended to sour). But, he did not have to worry about it for long, for as they approached the leader of Clan Urdnot, Shepard cried out in delight, "Wrex!"

And Thane was pleasantly surprised when the krogan battlemaster shoved a supplicant out of the way and pulled Shepard into a fierce hug. "Shepard! My friend."

Thane stepped back to the periphery of the scene, watching the other krogan milling about during the reunion, alert to any that might offer violence against his commander. Thane might be considerably smaller than those around him, but he was already planning several escape routes—should things deteriorate—that involved the death of most of those around him.

Grunt muttered something next to him, and Thane spared him a brief glance. The youngster seemed anxious, shifting his weight from foot to foot, letting loose frustrated growls every few moments as he waited for Shepard and Wrex to finish their discussion. Thane crooned softly as he would to a fretful child, hoping to calm the nerves of his youngest charge. He wasn't sure if Grunt could hear him, but nevertheless, he seemed to still and settle back into a tenuous patience. Thane was reminded of an impatient child waiting for parents to finish talking and was amused by the thought of Shepard as a mother to a krogan.

Thane's attention shifted back to his commander as she finished catching up with Wrex and began discussing the immediate problem at hand. Wrex explained that Grunt's issues were merely indicative of krogan puberty—Thane should have known that all aspects of krogan biology would be violent and messy—and therefore it was time to complete a rite of passage, a sort of battle that would secure Grunt's place in the clan and allow him to burn off all of the excess energy his hormones had been building.

Thane stifled a sigh. When he had been that age, Master has simply given him a lecture on biology and ordered him to increase his hours in meditation—the mind must always master the body. He rather wished it could be the same for everyone else too. It was far less messy that way. He spared a brief thought for Kolyat—had his son been given the same advice? How had Thane's sister-in-law handled it? Kolyat had always been a passionate child—much like his mother.  _"Kolyat." I try to keep the weariness out of my voice, but I can tell it seeps through. "You can finish your drawing tomorrow. You need to go to bed." He stamps his foot, scowling up at me. "No! Mother will be back from Auntie's tomorrow, and I need to finish it_ now _." I run my hands over the ridges on my head, trying to think of what Irikah would do in my place. I hear Master's voice in my head, demanding perfection, punishing disobedience, and then I picture Irikah's smile... "What if I help you? Can we finish it together?" I am rewarded by his tiny face lighting up with a grin as brilliant as his mother's._  Thane rather doubted that his son would have taken to meditating urges away as easily as he did.

Shepard thanked Wrex for his help and advice, catching Thane's eye as she moved past, and he fell into step behind her, eager to be out under the hot sun once again.

* * *

The arena had seen too much death. The corpses of krogan were scattered about, the vast space mysteriously clean of whatever had bested them—was it that the enemy was so fearsome that it had not fallen? Or was leaving the krogan out to rot in the sun considered an insult? So many souls that had not found their way to the sea.

In this place, with its rusted towers and stone darkened with dried blood, there was no water, no passage to its enveloping embrace. There was only the wind, harsh and sharp with glittering dust, and the ever oppressive sun, now carrying a forbidding glare, one that Thane hesitated to meet. Shepard carried the tide with her, but even she felt small and insignificant against this ritual of death and absence of hope that the krogan had created. Thane had never held the krogan in high regard—as individuals they could be fine, but as a people they were largely foolish—and seeing what they had created for their children, seeing the corpses of adolescents dot the scalding rocks, forgotten and alone, made him suddenly want to hold Kolyat in his arms so much that it hurt.

 _He doesn't know I'm leaving in the morning, and his little form snuggles against me as we read his favorite story in bed. "Do it in the funny voice, Father!" I do as he asks, but my voice catches in mid sentence, and his dark eyes so like my own look up at me, questioning. Before I know it, I have set the book aside and pulled him close to me, hugging him tightly, and I can guess from his stillness that he_ knows _._

Shepard's voice suddenly called him back to the present, and Thane tried to dismiss the dull ache in his chest. "Okay, boys, so we don't know what to expect, but we're used to that by now. Thane, I want your biotics ready, and Grunt, get some concussive shots lined up. In case we're rushed by whatever this is, I want to be able to give ourselves some space." Her own biotics snaked down her arms, making the ends of her fiery hair stand up. Thane had a brief, irrational desire to touch those strands with his own pulsing hands, seeing the spark that would arc between them.

Satisfied that they were as ready as they could be, she hit the keystone.

The shockwave reverberated the air around him and the ground beneath his feet; Thane felt it echo in his chest, and he automatically tensed, disliking the sudden pressure in the air. When the growls first sounded, Thane was almost eager to discharge some of the excess energy he harbored.

But, the waves of varren and klixen were largely unimpressive. Grunt charged to and fro, laughing in his gleeful slaughter, and Shepard, while she was not grinning like her young soldier, had that taut viciousness that he had come to expect in her during battle. Thane rather disliked the whole situation—he felt it was entirely unsporting to funnel these beasts into their arena, and even though they kept him moving, he was almost bored with the trials. The animals were loose and unorganized, and though they were deadly, they were no match for his training.

Shepard put down the last of the klixen, and Grunt roared his satisfaction. "Hit the keystone again, Shepard! I'm ready!"

Thane loaded a fresh heat sink in his rifle, blinking his second set of eyelids to clear the dust kicked up by the battle. Rolling his shoulders to loosen the bit of tension that had gathered there, he briefly turned his face up to the alien sun, knowing that Amonkira was not tethered to one planet. He readied himself for whatever manner of beast the krogan would send against them next, whispering a brief prayer to He whose bow could be strung by no mortal hand, when the ground began to rumble ominously, and Shepard's startled gasp drew his attention.

The woman had lost her pleasant pinkness and was even paler than usual, eyes wide with horror. He could not remember ever seeing such an expression on her face—it caused him no little amount of anxiety. If she was distraught by what was coming…

"Shepard?" Thane took a step toward her, but her gaze was focused on the horizon; he scanned the distant hills as well, feeling his muscles tense and coil, ready to spring for cover as the stone groaned beneath his feet.

What enemy did Amonkira send to them? Whose death would He call for now? What was Thane to send to the Hunter's Bride?

He glanced over to Shepard, noting with concern the fine shudder that ran through her body. "What is it?"

"It's…" She began, but then she whirled around, grabbing Thane by the arm and yanking him behind a rickety tower. "Cover! Damn you, move! Grunt, switch out to armor piercing rounds. Thane, find yourself a perch and stick to your rifle. Keep its attention off of me when I'm using the launcher."

Thane scrambled up the tower, balancing himself on a beam inside and sliding the barrel of his rifle through a crack in the rusted metal to seek his target, using the surface to steady his aim. "Shepard." He said again over their channel. "What is it?"

The ground cracked open and a shriek split the sky, and though Shepard shouted the answer over the comm, Thane did not need it anymore.

He stared in awe as the carapace of the thresher maw glistened in the sun despite the layers of clay covering it; its jaws clacked together, dripping acidic venom onto the rocks. The stone hissed at its contact, emitting a sickly vapor that made Thane's lungs ache sharply. The maw coiled its body like an unnaturally gargantuan snake, pricking some instinctual fear in the back of Thane's mind. Though its eyes were tiny and hidden under its shining copper armor, Thane knew, with the certain sense of a hunted animal, that it was preparing to strike down at the tiny form of his commander. For the first time, Thane saw her as so very small and vulnerable, teeth bared in a futile gesture of aggression, bringing her grenade launcher up to face her enemy.

_She will die, her armor will not be enough to ward off the venom, and she will scream and scream…_

Before he knows it, the clip is empty, and he's slamming another heat sink into his rifle. He sights down the scope, aiming for the few soft, fleshy spots on the maw's vulnerable underbelly, and then it turns its heavy head toward him, its raging howls almost impossible to bear.

Bad idea, it is a bad idea to be up there, in a stupid tower that sways even under his weight. The maw rears back and he braces himself for a volley of venom, but it does not come; Grunt draws it away, the bright flashes from the muzzle of his shotgun sparking in Thane's eyes. He takes advantage of the momentary distraction and half-falls, half-climbs down the tower, sprinting toward another tower several meters to the right of Shepard.

The maw retreats underground momentarily, and Shepard calls out for their status; he and Grunt are fine, but Thane can smell the sharp scent of human blood on the air, and then he's by her side, grabbing her hand and shoving a medi-gel pack in it without a word. She splits it open and slathers it along a gash in her leg to stem the flow; she has most likely gotten the wound while stumbling across the damned landscape riddled with twisted bits of rusted metal. She's pale and shaking, and Thane grips her shoulder, asking her what's wrong, but she doesn't get to answer because the maw is back.

They move like water, flowing out across the arena, and Thane has the sense that both he and Grunt are merely extensions of Shepard; he feels her thoughts as if they are his own. She shouts orders and he obeys, an instantaneous reflex attuned to her voice.

The maw shudders and flails under their attacks, and with a final wailing cry, collapses, shining, under the Tuchankan sun.

The dust settled, and Thane coughed violently, his lungs burning with the exertion, and they suddenly seized, every breath he tried to draw stopped by some invisible force crushing his chest. He clutched his vest, doubling over, and for one terrifying moment he was absolutely certain that he was about to join the maw on the ground, gasping his last, drowned by his own treacherous body...

But he was finally able to draw in a thin wheeze, and then a bit more, and at last his lungs seemed to relax. Closing his eyes, Thane tried to keep his breathing deep and even, the sweet taste of his own blood filling his mouth.

He opened his eyes and spat out the blood onto the dead earth, hoping not to find Shepard looking at him with concern—he was not in the mood to chat about his episodes—but she stood with her back to him, her hand clutching her gun tight enough that he heard her knuckles pop and any concern he felt for his own condition was washed away as he took two stumbling steps toward her. He knew the look that haunted her eyes—it had graced his own face often enough.

What memories of Akuze scratched through her mind now? He had read about her desperate tale of survival—during her first year as a Spectre, information on Shepard had been difficult to avoid, after all. Thane felt a brief pulse of empathy and admiration—a lesser person would have fled, would have cracked facing what surely had become the face of her nightmares. And yet she had stood her ground, had organized and led them to victory.

And now that the immediate danger had passed, she retreated back into her old horrors, sweat visible on her brow, eyes closed tightly against the bright sun. He wanted to reach out, touch her, bring her back, but he knew from experience that those who lived in nightmares often did not react well to being brought back before they were ready. Instead he crooned low to her, ignoring Grunt's senseless chatter about their achievement, murmuring soft words, gentle words, as he would to a spooked animal. His sounds of comfort flowed into a song of protection, a prayer to Arashu to extend what grace he had been granted over to Shepard.

Her eyes began to slowly open, and he heard her rapid gasps become more even. Thane risked a gentle hand on her shoulder, but she seemed to hardly notice it; her eyes were on the ground, but they were seeing something else. Grunt finally started to pay attention to the condition of his battlemaster, when a sudden scattering of rock tore his attention away from her to focus on the group of krogan making their way across the arena.

Shepard stiffened next to him, and her gaze focused sharply, any traces of her previous panic washed away in a sudden flood of fierce attention.

It was the supplicant from before—the one that obviously disagreed with Wrex and disliked Shepard and Grunt quite a bit. Thane withdrew his hand and tightened his grip on his rifle, widening his stance, grounding himself to prepare for the inevitable attack. When it came, he was ready.

* * *

He did not expect the day to culminate with him sitting next to Shepard on the floor of the women's washroom, watching her cry, shake, recall her painful memories that made him hum with shared sorrow. Thane found himself wanting to take her in his arms, to gently pet her head, to offer her some sort of comfort that he himself could and never did have, but instead he sat with his hands in his lap, simply allowing her to pour out everything that she had pent up. He shared with her some of his own memories— _I know she's dead, I know it, but I collapse to my knees beside her, cradling her in my arms, "Irikah, Irikah, come back to me, everything will be all right. I promise I'll make everything all right."_ —trying to make her understand that she was not alone in this.

When she walked out of the washroom, steady and confident on her feet even as he could see the shadows that clung around her slight form, he hung back, allowing her to leave him behind as she swept through her ship; her transformation was so complete that he could almost pretend her tears had never happened. But even if he could not perfectly recall what had transpired, the lingering confusion that colored his thoughts would not allow him to forget.

What strange binaries Shepard housed within herself. Strength and vulnerability, courage and fear, joy and sorrow. He found himself fascinated by all of them. Each new facet Shepard revealed of her personality intrigued him more, and while perhaps a year ago such a display in the washroom would have repelled him, now it only drew him nearer to her, like the tides pulled by the moon.

 _Why_?

The question burned within him, tugged him along until he felt he was whirling in the eddies created by her wake, unable to center himself, unable to rely on introspection to untangle the thoughts that crowded his mind. She was unpredictable, complex, untouchable by mere mortal concerns, but then in the next instant she revealed startling fractures in her character, points of weakness that, rather than shake her, illogically only seemed to make her stronger. He knew that he should see her weeping, her panic, as dangerous and unacceptable, but he could only think of his own darkest moments, when it had been him dissolved into tears at the death of the only one he had ever loved, and how he wished that he had not been so very alone.

It was that thought that had made him walk into the washroom with her, that thought that had made him slide his fingers through her brilliant hair, that thought that had made him share moments of pain with her that he had told to no one else.

He did not want her to feel alone.

Her burden was already unbearable. Spurned by her former Alliance crewmates, labeled a terrorist by the Council that she had saved, forced to work for an organization that had its hand in a thousand separate atrocities, she worked against an impossible force to save millions of lives while everyone else in the galaxy either looked the other way or actively hated her. Yet she had remained unshakable under all of that pressure, until this one moment when a ridiculous rite forced her to remember the time when she had not been able to use that unfathomable well of strength to save those that depended on her.

And he knew this pain—although perhaps not to her degree. Memories were painful, almost unbearable at times, and more often than naught he had no power to stop them from gripping his mind in a vice of sorrow, regret, and horror. He, too, had acted as though he was invincible, relying on his skill and strength to protect all that he cared for, and when he had lost her…

No, she would not be alone.

Garrus approached him quietly as Thane stood near the edge of the mess, shaking him out of his thoughts. "Thane, what happened out there?"

Thane turned to face the turian—Garrus' blue eyes were soft with concern. "There was a thresher maw."

He did not need to say anything else. Garrus' mandibles flared, and he shook his head. "Damn. Should have known it would have to be something that awful to get to Shepard. Is she okay?"

Thane blinked, clasping his hands behind his back. "I believe so." The words left his mouth, and Thane knew that they were true—Shepard might break one day, but it would not be because of old memories. Thane shared that with her—no matter the terror their minds could reproduce, they would always move past it. They would never allow it to completely control them.

Garrus looked as though he wanted to ask Thane more questions, but he excused himself from the inquisitive turian—let him find his information elsewhere, for Thane did not feel like sharing the Commander's burdens with others; they were not his to relate. If Shepard wished to speak to her friend about what had transpired, then she would, and Garrus would satiate his curiosity in that manner.

But as he was trying to make his way to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, Miranda approached him with quick steps, each footfall punctuated by a resounding clack from her heel. He  _hated_  that sound. There was just something about its pitch, the way it echoed through his head, that made Thane want to cover his ears and hum loudly to drown it all out. He remembered one mission in particular where he had been in a business district, and he had to listen to the women stomp around the plaza all day—it had made him want to hide in a sensory deprivation chamber for at least a week. Irikah herself had once procured a set of asari heels—the style had swept through Kahje with all the fervor of a transient fad.  _"Asari must have much stronger feet than drell." She totters uneasily on the heels, wincing as they surely pinch her small toes. "What do you think?" I pull her down next to me to sit on the bed, then sliding down before her to slip off the shoes, setting them aside. I rub her dainty little feet, so much prettier without their artificial confines. "I think it will be hard to walk in the sand with them when we search for shells today." She laughs, like glass bells caught in a wild wind, and I capture her smiling mouth with mine._

"Sere Krios." He shook himself from the memory as his name rolled off of her tongue; it sounded slightly different from the way Shepard pronounced it. "I need to see you in my office please."

Thane knew the difference between a request and an order. This was an order. Part of him bristled with the thought that Miranda believed she could order him about—logically, he knew it was the case since she was Shepard's Executive Officer, but he felt that he was not working for Cerberus; he was not working for Miranda; he was working for Shepard. His arm belonged to her and no one else aboard this ship. But he did not want to create a personnel problem for Shepard, so he turned to Miranda, favoring her with a long suffering look. "Now, Ms. Lawson?" He spared a brief thought to wonder what this might be about. The mission? The washroom? Both? Neither?

"Yes." And with that she turned, not bothering to look behind her to see if Thane would follow. And because Thane respected Shepard, he did not follow his first inclination of disregarding the order entirely but instead fell into step behind the Cerberus woman, wondering how it was that she moved comfortably in such shoes all day.

In her office, Kelly was already waiting, and Thane considered letting them initiate the conversation, but he was suddenly tired of the interrogation before it had even begun, so he launched into it without hesitation. "Have you already interviewed Grunt?"

Kelly's eyebrows shot up with surprise, but Miranda regarded him coolly as she sat behind her desk and motioned for him to take a seat. He remained standing. "Krogan are not known for their powers of observation, Sere. Ms. Chambers and I are hoping that you will be able to provide us with a more detailed description of the events on Tuchanka… and aboard the Normandy."

Thane felt his eyes narrow—he was not quite sure why he felt such instant animosity toward the operative, but he knew for certain that he did not like the power that Miranda might gain from the information he possessed. Perhaps it was because she had made it clear on several occasions that she worked for the Illusive Man and not Shepard—Thane did not like divisions within the ranks. He thought that Miranda wavered now and then in her allegiances, though, and Thane hoped that in the end she would choose to follow Shepard. He did not like to think that a woman who risked all to protect a beloved sister would one day be their outright enemy—for Thane trusted the Illusive Man about as far as he could skip an unworn stone across a stormy bay.

Kelly sensed his hesitation—she was always so quick and perceptive. "We just need to make sure she's all right, Thane. We need to know if there's anything we could do that might help her out."

Thane turned his gaze to her—a gaze that he knew was emotionless and empty—but to her credit she did not flinch. "Have you spoken with her, then? It seems like that would be the most logical route."

"Not yet." Miranda offered the answer instead of her associate. "We wanted to gather any and all facts first before we went to her."

"Why?" Thane pressed.

Miranda's answer was simple, blank. "Protocol."

"I see."

Kelly brought out a datapad. "Now, Thane, if you could just recount what happened on Tuchanka?"

Thane gave a dry recitation of facts, recounting the discussion with Wrex, the shaman, Shepard's aptitude in rallying them against the creatures in the arena, Uvenk's betrayal, and the acceptance of Grunt into Urdnot ranks. But, if Miranda's look was any indication, she did not quite believe Thane's sterile account of events. "And what of in the washroom?"

Although Thane wondered why she simply didn't review the security footage, he answered with the same smooth professionalism that he had perfected over the years—Miranda might be cool and detached, but he had perfected that art when she had been a mere infant. "Shepard succumbed to a momentary illness—perhaps brought on by the excessive heat of Tuchanka. I recommend that she see Doctor Chakwas in case there are any lingering effects." He was not lying (the heat had weakened her emotional barriers, after all), but he would also not gossip about Shepard's emotional outburst—to do such would be distasteful, especially since one moment indicated nothing about her aptitude to command.

Miranda frowned at him. "And why did you go in?"

Thane offered a blank smile in return. "As you said, Grunt is hardly the most observant of our crew. I noticed Shepard's discomfort, and as I had also accompanied her on the mission, I felt it my duty to follow her to ensure that she was well."

Miranda leaned forward, elbows on her desk, eyes sharp and cold. "You must think I'm a fool, Krios. I know that's not all that happened."

Thane felt a smirk tug up one corner of his mouth, amused at the implication that somehow there was some secret dalliance going on between himself and his commander—whether Miranda intended it or not, it was still entertaining. "I handed her a washcloth, Ms. Lawson. Was I supposed to report such details to you? I was not aware that you cared for such minutiae."

Kelly made a small noise that could have been interpreted as distress or amusement; Thane couldn't tell without breaking his gaze from Miranda, and that was something he did not wish to do. Miranda herself seemed to struggle between holding on to her anger and letting it wash away, but perhaps the flippant tone in his voice annoyed her too much, for after a moment she scowled at him with an expression that would surely cow even the most hardened crew members. Thane stood unaffected. She had not studied under his Master—Thane was an expert in receiving blistering stares without wilting in the least. Finally Miranda spoke in small, crisp words. "Shepard is an investment, as are you. I need to ensure my investments are lucrative."

Thane neatly avoided the immediate burst of ire he felt at being called that—Shepard would have been rightly angry at its usage this time—and focused on the larger issue. He was used to being considered a resource rather than a living being, and he dealt with that in the same way he dealt with all things. But Shepard could not be thought of in this way, not if they expected to emerge from this battle victorious. He was annoyed with Miranda for failing to see that. For all of her supposed perfection, she still did not know how to handle her fellows.

He clasped his hands behind his back, letting his tone soften to smooth any perceived insolence. "You run the risk of oversimplifying our situation if you think of Shepard in terms of an investment. The only way we will be victorious is if you place your trust in her—even if some of her actions run contrary to what you believe should be done."

Miranda was quiet for a moment, during which Thane hoped she was earnestly considering what he said. The hum of the Normandy sounded unnaturally loud. Yet Thane was not going to break the silence first—he was unbothered by it and could stand there in stillness and quiet all day if he had to. But humans always felt the need to make noise, and Miranda finally succumbed to her nature. "Understood, Sere. Have a pleasant evening."

Thane gave them both a polite nod and left them to their thoughts, eager to be alone with his own.

* * *

 **A/N:**  Sorry this one took a bit. I couldn't get the tone of some of the sections right, and it needed a fair bit of work (thank you to my lovely beta, so patient and hardworking :D). I hope you like how it turned out.


	7. Mixing Memory and Desire

_"You expect me to apologize? Beg?" The batarian spits his blood in my face, and I feel my rage soar impossibly higher. "You think I give a shit? You ruined me, killed my brother, my only family. I'd kill that stupid bitch a thousand times over to get back at you. My only regret was that the slut hid the…" he coughs wetly. "…kid too well." "Quiet." My voice is calm, flat despite my fury; I desperately shore up what little control I have left against my ruins. "I have killed all those connected to her death. You are the last. You will suffer for what you have done. You will pay for your crimes." He grins, dark blood inking his pointed teeth. "I've accepted my death, drell. Have you accepted your_ life _? Will you be able to live knowing that she died because of_ you _?"_

Thane started from his sleep with a choked cry, the lingering feelings of desperate anger clouding his vision. He ran his hands over his face, trying to shake the memory, unsurprised when they came away damp with tears. He always tried to start the night off with pleasant memories, memories of Irikah's warm embrace, tender smile, brilliant eyes. But, perhaps because the gods had not forgiven him, he always awoke with the same horrific images—batarian blood hot on his hands, doing nothing to quell his despair and self-loathing; her body, broken and used, as he frantically, futilely tried to revive her; Kolyat so fragile in his arms, as he tried to shield his son's eyes to prevent him from creating a permanent memory of his mother's shattered form.

_I am kneeling in the grass as several drell police officers arrive, Kolyat crushed against my chest; he is sobbing wildly, but I am still, so horribly still. Two go into my house while one remains with me; he lays his hand on my shoulder, and I flinch at the contact. "Sere? Sere? Are you the one who made the call? Can you tell me what happened here?"_

It nearly always took him several minutes to calm down after the nightmares, to slow his breathing, to release the memories' hold on his mind. Images continued to flash behind his eyes, and he sat up to try to stop them, pulling his knees up to his chest to rest his forehead on them, wrapping his arms loosely around his legs. He wished, selfishly, that he could have  _one_  night in which he did not wake in such a manner, but he knew that he deserved it. It was the least the gods could do to punish him, the least he should suffer for what he did to his family.

His omnitool flickered to life on his table, and Thane stretched out a grateful arm out to grab it—relieved that it provided a distraction—settling it in his hand and pulling up the message. Some enthusiastic turian wanted to obtain his services. He sighed. He still got messages like that from time to time from those who were too out of the loop to update their contacts but enough of a fringe player that they had heard of him. Thane forwarded the message on to a trusted former colleague in the Compact—Rayna would handle it; she always did. She had more of a conscience than most had when it came to contracts, and he knew that he could trust her to ensure that an innocent would not suffer for this turian's ability to pay a hefty amount of credits.

A message came back from her instantly. " _Thanks, Krios. Been awhile. How are you?"_

" _Fine_." He tapped back quickly. " _Busy. You?"_

" _Good, as always. Heard about the Nassana hit. Nice."_

Thane felt himself smile. " _I can always count on you to keep tabs on me._ "

" _Someone has to. Cerberus is a nasty piece of work. Do not drink too long from that standing water_."

He knew she would be exasperated by his old blessing, but he sent it anyway. " _I won't. Arashu protect you._ "

But she had always accepted it. When others had teased him as an adolescent for clinging to such an old and unfashionable belief, she had stood by his side, even if she did not share his faith. His elder by several years, Rayna had been a sort of surrogate sibling to him during his training, quick to both defend him and mercilessly mock him, as any older sibling should.  _"Your own fault. Stupid. Slow." She mutters, but her words are softened by her gentle touch cleaning the wounds on my back. "Next time you'll crack that empty skull of yours open, and I won't be able to fix that for you." The muscles in my back twitch as she dabs the cuts with a sharp disinfectant, and I try hard not to let the tears of pain pricking my eyes fall._  She was the only one he had taken the time to say goodbye to when he had severed his ties to the Compact to be with Irikah.

He could picture her sardonic smile. " _Your Arashu should favor my bank account. Haven't had a good contract in a few months. But thanks. Take care._ "

He waved his omnitool off, setting it back on the table, unwilling to have it tethered to him at the moment. And now, of course, he really would not be able to sleep. It was always a gamble as to whether he would be able to get back to sleep after a nightmare, but now that he had been awake for the past ten minutes, he knew that the only way he might be able to rest again was after a long period of meditation—and since he had to be awake anyway in a couple of hours, it seemed a waste of time.

Thane swung his legs off the bed, grabbing his vest and coat, shrugging both on. If he was going to be awake this early, he might as well be productive. He took his SMG from the shelf and placed it in its case along with his cleaning tools—the armory would likely be empty, and this particular weapon was due for some maintenance.

Before he took the lift, however, he stopped in the mess to fix himself a cup of tea. Drinking tea in the morning had been a ritual for him ever since childhood, and although some missions did not afford the time to prepare a cup in the morning, he took the opportunity whenever he could. It grounded him, made him feel… at peace.

He tugged on the string of the tea bag, watching the warm brown seep in curling tendrils throughout the cup. The steam smelled delicious, and part of him wanted to return to his room, read, and drink his tea until he dozed off again—it would be a delightful way to spend the day... if he hadn't been currently on the job. He never felt quite right relaxing while employed, and even though Shepard was not paying him, he still did not want to waste his time while contracted to her.

He stifled a yawn as rode the lift up to the CIC deck; as the doors opened, he immediately began veering to the left, mind already occupied with thoughts of digging out that bit of grit from Tuchanka that he had been working at unsuccessfully for the past several days. But as he took two quick steps toward the armory, a flash of brilliant red caught his eye–Shepard stood before the galaxy map, no doubt planning their next mission. He blinked with surprise—he had not expected to meet her, especially when any sane person should be asleep. She turned, catching him awkwardly staring at her. "Morning. You're up early."

"As are you." But while he was tired and feeling more than a little rough, she seemed bright and humming with energy, her kelp eyes quick and alert despite the hour. "Are you normally awake at this time?"

"Oh, sometimes. It depends on how much I have to do that day." She waved him up to stand next to her. "Come here. I want to know your opinion on this."

Thane sat his case at the foot of the stairs and squeezed next to her. She smelled of water and fresh greenery. Her hair was still slightly damp from bathing, and he was fascinated how it changed its consistency based on how wet it was. He wondered how it would feel.

"So, what I'd like to do is hit this Bloodpack operation hard. Here's the layout." She brought up a map. "I'm thinking of entering here." She pointed. "And we could make our way through here, with sniper support on the catwalk. But here," she zoomed in on a point, "is where it gets tricky. If they're smart, they'll bottleneck us, and things will get pretty difficult, pretty fast. I'd like to avoid that. Suggestions?"

Thane studied the schematic. The narrow hall between their entrance point and target area was disturbingly close. "Hmm." He took a sip of his tea. "What if we were to approach this from a different angle? Look—there is a skylight here." He saw her eying his tea and handed it to her without a thought—she seemed momentarily surprised by his offer (he'd remembered too late humans' obsession with avoiding 'germs'), but she took a drink anyway before handing it back to him. "We could take to the roofs; that would allow us to avoid potential conflict within the building until the last moment, when we take out the leader of this particular cell within his own quarters."

She raised an eyebrow. "You do realize that if we do that we'll just be sitting ducks in another part of the compound."

Thane cocked his head at her strange metaphor. A reclining fowl? He shook his head slightly to clear the image from his mind. "Krogan are considerably less organized without their battlemaster. There will be squabbles for power, displays of aggressive authority that can serve as fatal distractions. The vorcha will be impossible to control and will, perhaps, even turn on each other."

She nodded. "Huh. Running around like a chicken with its head cut off." Thane gave a confused blink. Again with the fowl metaphors. He would have to research their origins later on.

But as Shepard continued to work out his idea, a frown creased her features. "Won't there be security on that skylight? Can't imagine that they would leave such a vulnerable point open."

"Indeed, I am sure there will be. This is why I suggest you take Tali'Zorah—she will get you past any electronic resistance—and Jack, who will no doubt be able to rip the skylight out at the seams if needed."

Shepard hmm'd and was silent for a moment while she considered it. Thane closed his eyes and took a drink of his tea; the lip of the mug tasted strangely sweet where her mouth had touched it. "Yeah." He opened his eyes again at her voice, regarding her calculating expression. "Yeah, I think that would work." She began typing onto her datapad. "Let me just make those changes, and… there. Sent it off to Miranda. She'll put everything in place." She smiled at him, and he felt himself offering a tiny smile back. "Thanks. That was a great idea." Shepard looked past him to eye his case on the floor. "Are you busy? I'll make you a new cup of tea."

Thane drained the rest of his tea. "I was going to do some cleaning in the armory, but another cup of tea sounds infinitely more pleasing." He wanted to add that conversation with her was the real draw, but he decided not to. Good things in his life had a habit of disappearing shortly after he acknowledged them, and he wanted to keep this tiny pleasure as long as he could.

They were quiet in the lift, but it was a comfortable silence. He felt a gentle ease with this human woman, a comfort that had been a stranger to him for so long. He stole a few sideways glances at her as they rode down a floor, admiring the clearness of her brow, the brightness of her eyes. They were marks of her sharp mind, and he hummed with anticipation—he could not wait to try that quickness of thought once again.

When they moved out to the mess hall, he started helping her with the tea, but she pushed his hand away. "No, I said I'd make it for you. Go ahead and sit down."

And so he found himself observing her slender form with no small amount of pleasure—her movements swift and sure—as she spoke to him while gathering the things for tea. "Have you always been a tea drinker, Thane? I confess, until recently I was more into coffee. But—I guess it's old age—my stomach can't handle too much of it anymore. Too acidic."

He gave a reproachful hum, smiling at how her human mind dwelt far too much on the subject of aging. "You are not old, Shepard; you are nearly ten years my junior." He leaned his elbows on the table, clasping his hands before him. "And yes, I have always preferred tea. I did try, once, this coffee drink of yours, and I found it far too strong for my liking."

The amusement in her voice colored the air with the same pale coral of her lips. "Yeah, it's an acquired taste."

He blinked lazily, touching his middle fingers together. "I have never understood that. If it tastes bad in the beginning, why would you keep drinking it? It seems quite nonsensical."

Shepard shot him a grin over her shoulder. "Yeah, well, humans aren't exactly known for their sense." She turned around with two full mugs and sat one before him. "Here you go. Enjoy."

"Thank you, Shepard; you are most kind." He wrapped his hands around the cup, loving how the warmth seeped into his scales. "Do you have a full day today, then?"

She grimaced. "Ugh, don't I always? I feel as though I've been running myself—and the crew—ragged. With that last slew of upgrades I bought, everyone's been scrambling to get them up and functional—and, of course, nothing ever works from the moment you hook it up. I'm going to schedule some downtime for us soon, though—any preferences on where we go? I know Miranda wants to go to Illium—probably to see her sister."

Thane gave a low rumble and tilted his head. "I do not really have an opinion." Regardless of the destination, he would probably remain aboard the ship anyway.

"No favorite vacation spot?"

 _Sea grass dips languidly in the damp breeze. Frothy waves crash on the pale pebbles._ "Hmm. Well, we would always spend time on the beaches, on Kahje. But I doubt anyone except myself would enjoy that—it rains a great deal."

A strand of hair fell in her face, and she tucked it away behind an ear. "Who's we?"

Thane opened his mouth to automatically answer, then stopped himself. "Ah. Well." He did not know why he hesitated to tell Shepard of Irikah, but… he had not spoken to another about her in so very long. But Irikah had... She had loved the...

The memory crashed over him before he could stop it. " _Rain falls on our heads. Cold sea spray soaks our clothes. She steps lightly on a slick rock and holds out her hand. 'Come on.' She says. 'We're losing daylight.'"_

He slipped from the memory slowly, savoring the feel of his hand in hers. His eyes gradually focused on Shepard, who was wearing the most curious expression on her face. With a flash of embarrassment, Thane realized he had spoken the memory aloud. "I… apologize. Drell slip into memories so easily."

Other species could be put off by drell memories—he had experienced that discomfort before. Hanar were the only other species that tried to understand the importance of the memories; it was one of the reasons that drell did not make too many close friends out in the galaxy—many were perturbed by the thought that all was recorded by their minds. They never stopped to consider the intimacy in sharing one's memories with another, and thought that drell blurted them out to anyone. He was, in a way, thrown off balance by his own willingness to share with Shepard—had she disarmed him so much that he would share a memory, a memory of Irikah no less, without a second thought? Once again, he felt the thrill of danger at how easily this human disassembled his barriers.

But if his memory bothered Shepard, she did not show it. Instead an intense interest sharpened her gaze, and he was calmed by her willingness to accept his species' peculiarities. He supposed he should have expected no less from the one who had assembled such a mismatched crew. "That was a memory? Who is she?"

But when she pressed him for more information, he suddenly felt shy, unsure. She asked him to share a part of his life that belonged to someone entirely different from the assassin that she recruited. He knew that she was fine with him now, with his skills, his talents. But would she still tolerate him when she knew he was not composed merely of weapons and death? Even those hanar that he had been close to, those that felt intimate enough with him to share their soul name, even they had not really wanted to hear about anything… personal. Thane supposed that perhaps it overly complicated their perception of him. Would it be harder to send him away to kill for them if they knew that Thane had a wife and child waiting for him at home? "My… wife." He stared down at the steam curling from his mug.

"Your wife?" He could hear the surprise coloring her voice. "I didn't know you were married."

"I was. Years ago."

His humming made his voice deeper than usual, and he wondered if she had to strain to hear him. But after a moment of silence, perhaps as her translator made sense of his words, she went on. "Oh... it didn't work out between you two?"

He felt a brief stab of sorrow in his chest. "In a… manner of speaking. She was killed."

Shepard was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was soft, compassionate. "I'm so sorry."

Ah, and this was why he did not talk to anyone about Irikah. Shepard's pity made him feel simultaneously bad for himself and filled with self-loathing. He shoved the emotions aside with all the strength that over ten years of study under his Master could give him. Thane let out a sighing hiss, dragging one finger along the lip of his mug. "It happened many years ago. I had… have… many enemies. I was careless, and some of them found her."

"Did you get them?"

The sudden vehemence in her voice made him look up at her, surprised. "I beg your pardon?"

Her eyes flashed with fury—he was a little shocked at how personally she held his own private tragedy. "Did you get them back for what they did?"

Her words were angry, fierce, and Thane wondered if she was thinking of her own family. "I did. I was trained to grant death quickly, mercifully. Them… I let them linger. It did nothing to alleviate the guilt and horror—as I am sure you know."

They were both quiet, and Thane returned his gaze to the dark tea in his cup, half regretting coming down to the mess to speak with Shepard. This conversation was of a heavier nature than he had hoped. But then the next words out of her mouth were different, lighter, even as it held a note of hesitation, as if she were afraid of his reaction. "Will you tell me about her? What was her name? What was she like?"

He met her eyes now, green like the shallows. How could they be so small yet so bright? A strand of hair dipped low, and he wanted to mimic her action earlier and tuck it behind her ear so he could see her eyes more clearly.

And as he contemplated those eyes, he found himself answering her question before he knew what words he would say. "Irikah. Her name was Irikah. Her skin was blue like the darkest ocean, and her eyes held the fire of the sunset. She was… passionate. Opinionated. She knew how to soothe a situation with a single word or rouse everyone to laughter with a well-timed observation. She used those talents in her art—she painted, sculpted, composed poetry. She lived to create, to inspire."

Her hands were loosely wrapped around her mug, her fingers slender and pale. "How did you meet her?"

This time he felt the memory coming on, but he did not turn away from it, letting it wash over him. " _Laser dot trembles on the skull. Smell of spice on the spring wind. Sunset eyes defiant in the scope._ " He emerged from it, his most cherished memory, and looked to Shepard to see her reaction—it was important to him that she respect the information he shared with her now—and he let loose a soft, pleased trill at her intensely curious gaze; she did not shrink away from him. "I had been hired to kill a man, and Irikah saw my targeting laser. Rather than run away, cower, she threw herself in my line of sight—what civilian does that?" He tilted his head, blinking both sets of eyelids. "We, you and I, are trained to accept death, but she would sacrifice herself for a complete stranger. I could see her lips move. 'How dare you.'" He could not repress the smile at the memory. "Such defiance. Such passion."

She matched his smile. "What happened next?"

"I could not let go of the memory. It possessed and endowed me. I had to see her again—I tracked her down, found out where she lived, and threw myself at her feet, begging her forgiveness. She was…" He gave a small laugh. "She was quite angry with me at first. But her compassion was such that she would not turn a pathetic wretch like myself away—I must have seemed quite bedraggled, soaked with the rain, exhausted from my vigil on my target for the last four days. In time she forgave me. Eventually she loved me."

She rested her chin atop her hand, balancing her elbow on the table. "She sounds wonderful."

"She… was." A bittersweet sadness made his chest ache, and he wished that Irikah could have met this strange human, so engaging, so curious. They could have talked forever. "She taught me that I could only be true to myself and the gods if I made my own decisions, not merely follow the expectations of others. And she..." He hesitated, unsure if he should proceed, but Shepard's eyes were so bright. "She gave me my son. Kolyat."

"You have a son?" She slid her other hand across the table toward him, about to touch him before she seemed to rethink her movement and simply let her arm lay across the surface, milk pale and decorated with her pretty little fresco of scars. He wished he dared to trace their patterns with his fingers. "I didn't know that. How old is he?"

"He is a young man, now, at nearly eighteen years." At her raised eyebrow, he gave a small, amused hum. "I told you that I am nearly ten years your senior."

Her laugh was like tiny bells. "Where is he? Is he on Kahje?"

"Yes." Thane stopped before he explained the whole situation. He knew how humans viewed children, and he knew that Shepard would not look kindly on his... actions. Thane didn't really even look kindly on his own actions.

He felt irrationally pleased at all of her questions. "What does he look like? Do you have a picture?"

Thane smiled, half closing his eyes. "Why have pictures when one can simply recall a memory, so much more vivid than any holo could be?"

Shepard tapped one finger on the table, her nail trim, the edges slightly rounded. "So you could show less unfortunate races such as myself?"

Thane inclined his head. "Indeed. Perhaps I shall have to rectify that, then. But if you wish a description, then I can give it to you. He is tall now." His sister-in-law's latest letter flashed in his mind. "Taller than me, actually. He looks most like his mother—dark, with the same smile. But he has my eyes."

"That doesn't really help, you know. I don't really even know what Irikah looks like."

And suddenly Thane truly felt the woeful inadequacy—he did not have a picture of Irikah. How could he ever show anyone? What would happen to her image after he was gone? He felt a wild sense of despair for a horrible moment, but then he remembered.  _"It's a self-portrait." She dabs a bit more paint on the canvas. "But it doesn't really look like you." I offer hesitantly, afraid my uncultured opinion will offend. But she laughs. "No, not exactly. But it's my interpretation of my self. Can you still see me in it?"_

"She painted herself, once." Thane said, relieved. "One day, I can show you."

Shepard worried at her bottom lip with her small, white teeth. "On Kahje? I've never been there. I'll have to dig out my umbrella."

Thane smiled. "Indeed."

"So, Kolyat, right?" At his nod, she continued. "What does he do? For the Compact?"

"Ah... well." Thane let the words hang there, uncertain of how to explain.

"He's your first born, right?" Shepard said, suddenly anxious; perhaps she thought that there was yet more tragedy in his life.

He quickly confirmed. "Yes, yes he is."

"And you told me that it's an honor. So..." She looked terribly nervous, and Thane felt bad for dragging it out.

"It is. What I said before was true. But Irikah... felt differently." Her lips made a tiny 'o' of surprise. "Neither she nor any of her brothers or sisters had been given, you see. Her parents... I am not sure why they chose not to. But Irikah had been... she was upset when many of her friends had been taken away. She told me how she would see the parents of those who had been given weep and lose themselves to memory. Until, of course, another child would be born. And that child, she said, carried with it all of the expectations and hopes of the elder one. She... did not wish that for Kolyat. She did not wish that for us."

"And you agreed to that? You seemed... pretty..." Shepard waved her hand around, as if that would convey her meaning.

But Thane knew what she was getting at. "I still do believe in the usefulness and honor of the Compact, yes. It was our first, true disagreement. Kolyat showed some of the same aptitude that I had when I was a child. I wanted to see him follow in my footsteps. But one night, when he was still so young..."

" _Irikah is at the market. Kolyat is playing with me in the living room, his bright toys clattering back and forth between us. He suddenly announces with authority that he must use the washroom. 'Do you need help, Kolyat?' I say, starting to rise. But his voice is tiny, commanding. 'No Father. I am a big boy. I can do it by myself.' I nod and smile, watch him totter away. He is gone for five, then ten minutes. I begin to worry. 'Kolyat?' I call out. 'Son, are you all right?' When there is no answer, I feel the rise of panic creep up my chest, clenching at my heart. I stride quickly down the hall, stopping cold in my tracks when I see the thin sliver of light from the back room._

_I had closed the door._

_I know I did._

_But it is open and... Prayers are a mantra in my mind. 'Arashu, sweet Mother, please protect your child, do not let, oh, Goddess, please no.' I push the door open the rest of the way, and there he is. He sits in the middle of the floor, angry red clips scattered around him, my rifle between his legs, his tiny hands moving over the barrel, over and over, tracing well worn paths. 'Hi Father.' He's so innocent, so unaware of what he has. 'Look what I found.'_

_I pull him away, leaving the room without bothering to put the rifle back on its shelf, for once not caring about the mess I leave behind. He is so small in my arms, so fragile, so perfect._ "

Thane felt the memory release its hold on him, focusing back on Shepard to see a look of horror on her face. "He could have..." She began, her voice quiet and awful.

"I know." He looked down at his mug for a moment before venturing a glance at Shepard again. "I told Irikah that night. She was furious. Of course. But I said... I told her that I could not bear to lose him. My Kolyat. I could not bear to lose him to anything. We never spoke of the Compact after that."

They were both silent for a moment. Shepard was lost to whatever thoughts haunted her mind—perhaps of her own fragile family that had been destroyed. At least he still had Kolyat. She had... no one. "Thank you for listening to me." He murmured, earning her gaze back on him. He met her eyes, luminous, almost beautiful in their curiosity. "I have not spoken about my family in… I do not think I ever have. I had no one to share it with."

"I am an excellent listener." She said, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Let me return the favor." He offered, hesitant. "What of you? Do you have...? Have you had...?" Thane found he couldn't quite finish the sentence. It seemed a terribly personal thing to ask, whether she had a lover, a mate.

But she caught his meaning anyway. "I've never had that sort of love." She said, almost wistfully. "I thought I did, one time. But he… well, I guess it's complicated."

Thane leaned forward, intrigued by the thought of Shepard in love. For such an engaging, unusual woman, her potential mate must have been quite interesting himself. He could picture her with nothing less than someone spectacular; she deserved that. "Who was the young man to catch your interest?"

She smiled, but it was distant. "Kaidan. I served with him. But, well, when you die and come back a few years later, things get a little screwed up."

Thane felt his eyes widen. "He did not celebrate your return?"

Shepard scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Not really. He thought I had faked it, lied to him. He was really angry. I guess he still is. I'm not sure."

He was quiet for a moment while he processed this. He remembered now, a dark haired man who stood by Shepard's empty coffin on the broadcasted funeral, identified as Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko. The human had seemed truly saddened by the Commander's passing—Thane did not understand why he would react in such a way to Shepard's return. He turned a sad eye to her, humming softly. What a devastating welcome by one she trusted so much. "That is…" He shook his head. "I am not sure I understand his motivation. Perhaps it is a human reaction."

She shrugged, rotating her mug back and forth. "Hey, don't put all the irrationality on humanity. I'm sure drell do weird, emotional things too."

He smiled and leaned back in his chair, adjusting his collar. "Yes, you are right, of course." He stopped short of telling her that he wished Alenko would realize his mistake and return to her side. It was, perhaps, too familiar for him to relate. Instead he said, "I was trained to suppress my emotional reactions. Irikah could always, somehow, dig them back out again."

Her grin was teasing; her words held a laugh behind them. "Really? You? The ever stoic Sere Krios? I'd pay to see that."

She saw more, perhaps, than she realized. "I apologize, Shepard, but that privilege comes with time only. You will have to earn it."

"I'll be sure to work at it, then."

Her smile was infectious, and he shifted in his seat, leaning forward once again. "I look forward to your attempts."

* * *

 **A/N:**  I really liked how this one turned out. I hope you enjoyed it too. ^_^

Oh, and someone asked a couple chapters ago about the little details I put in on the drell religion and whatnot. I meant to answer it last chapter, but I forgot. The question was whether all of these details were canon. And the answer is that the foundation is, of course—the names of the gods and goddesses and whatnot. I get all of that detail from the Mass Effect wiki—invaluable for research of any kind. Anything that's not covered in that wiki is from my own little head. So, the brief glimpses of ritual, the sense that Thane is an avatar for the gods' will—all that is from me. I hope it makes sense. It does in my head, at least. ^_^


	8. This Music Crept by Me upon the Waters

Thane had already secured his meal for the night. He had raided the larder early, eager to miss the mad rush at dinner time when everyone would gather around the table and talk too loudly to each other. Jack would usually start some sort of fight with Miranda; Zaeed would drone on about some nostalgic time when he had killed a lot of people; Grunt would attack his food like it was trying to get away from him; Mordin would trap whoever was unlucky to be nearest to him with some sort of scientific monologue; Joker, Garrus, and Tali usually formed a small group with the Commander and screamed with laughter at a million inside jokes. The only one that was relatively quiet was Jacob (who still did not like Thane at all).

Shepard asked her crew to try to make it out for meals; she said that otherwise they ran the risk of never seeing each other at all except on the field, and it was hard to ask someone to save your life if you had spent barely five minutes with them outside of a firefight.

Thane saw the logic in that—it was the way most militaries built camaraderie within their units. But Thane was not military. He had been allowed to associate with others who served his Master, but not often. It was done to instill a sense of independent capability—in contrast with the military dynamic that depended on teamwork, assassins could not rely on others, so they should learn to operate in a solitary manner in other aspects of their lives as well.

The one thing that had been allowed, although not expressly, was a senior student taking a younger one under their protection. The student could not show too much favoritism to the little one—that would be punished—but as long as the relationship was kept out of Master's sight, he seemed to look the other way. Thane thought it was because under the harsh tutelage of the Master, it was easy to become cruel, bitter, and angry. A small measure of kindness shown by an elder student, and then that same kindness passed on to another little one, saved them from turning completely into monsters or worse—fracturing under the pressure.  _"What happened?" I dog Rayna's steps as she sweeps down the hall, struggling to keep up with her longer stride. "What happened to Patan? Why won't anyone_ talk _about it?" She turns to me suddenly, wrathful, angry, and I shrink away from her, preparing to dodge a sharp jab from her fingers. But she simply stares at me for a long moment, eyes going dark and sad. "He was weak." She says finally, whirling around. "Stop pestering me about it. We need to go work on your form. You're sloppy. Master will shed your scales for you if you don't shape up."_  It was a rare occurrence that one of them self-destructed, but it had happened. They had been merely children, after all.

Thane had followed Rayna; in turn, little Kahlen had followed Thane. Kahlen had been everything that Thane was not—outspoken, brash, engaging. Why he chose to attach himself to Thane, the elder drell had no idea. But Kahlen had hounded Thane's footsteps until he had been forced to acknowledge to himself that the little one was his responsibility.  _"I find myself wanting to apologize to you now, Rayna; although I doubt that I was this annoying." She laughs; I can tell through our video feed that it is bright where she is. Sunlight glints off of her taut scales, making me remember that she is not much older than I am. "Don't give yourself too much credit, Krios. You made me want to end more than one day with a hanar tentacle around my neck." She leans forward, eyes gleaming, her voice holding a strange, humming note. "You'll do fine. You had me to teach you, after all. Your little Kahlen could not have found a better mentor."_

So, Thane knew the finer points of associating with one's peers, but he felt... distant from these people. It was, perhaps, because he had spent much of the last ten years alone. Conversational skills tend to atrophy after such a long period. Shepard was the only one who did not tax his reserves—any of the others, while pleasant, usually made him feel drawn and tense with fatigue if he had to spend more than a few moments engaged in small talk. Shepard, like Thane, was comfortable with silence; they both felt no need to fill it up with meaningless chatter. As such, it seemed easier and more natural to speak, for as much as he felt comfortable sitting in silence with her, he liked it more when he could hear her voice, low and soothing.

He unwrapped the small packet of food—an assortment of dried fruit, nuts, and some sort of salted baked crunchy bread that he had grown fond of (he could never eat much of the bread—drell were not used to digesting that sort of food—but he did love how deliciously salty they were). He didn't know what they were; the words on the container were in some human language, and he did not know how to read it. Humans were too new to the galaxy when he was training for them to be a very central part of his education. While he tried his best to pick up what he could along the way, there were still so many words that he did not know. They had so very many languages. Spoken languages were easy enough, for his translator did the work for him. But times like now, serving on a human ship, he faced the barrier of written language. It was, therefore, to his benefit to quickly learn the ways various races and cultures would symbolize dextro-protein based foods

He folded his hands, murmuring thanks to the gods for blessing him with yet another day on this shore, finishing his prayer with a small drink of water. He had just put the first piece of fruit in his mouth, savoring its tangy sweetness, when the chime on his door sounded.

Thane blinked and half turned in his seat, his thoughts full of the only person he could imagine seeking him out, hastily chewing and swallowing the bite before admitting his visitor. As he thought, Shepard appeared in the doorway. She must have some sort of mission she wanted him to participate in—he found himself thinking with pleasure what kind of service he could provide for her. Many of his employers were merely the hands that wielded him, and a weapon felt no pleasure. But, for Shepard… he enjoyed working for her. He liked knowing that the targets they sought deserved their fate, that they were truly making the galaxy a brighter place. He trusted her sense of judgment; he could not say that about many people. She leaned on the door frame, an arm across her waist to grip her elbow. "Hi Thane. Do you mind if I come in?"

"Not at all." He waved her over, turning back to his food to start folding up the packet. "Do you need something?"

"I had a few moments' downtime, and I thought I'd come say hello." She settled down in the seat in front of him. "Oh, don't stop eating because of me." She fluttered her pale hands over his, settling them down on the table after he stopped fiddling with his packet. They folded over themselves like ivory seabirds. "What do you have there?"

Thane was... he was not sure there was a word for the mixture of pleased embarrassment (perhaps in one of the myriad of human languages) he felt at the thought that Shepard would think him worthy enough to willingly spend a few quiet moments with him. "I am not sure what kind of fruit this is. Or what kind of nuts these are. Or... actually, what any of this is truly called. But all of them taste good."

Shepard smiled at him, bringing her arms up on the table, leaning forward on her elbows. "Looks like dried apricots to me. And those are almonds. And these are pretzels." Her eyes caught his. "Are your meals always this sparse? Or are you just snacking?"

Thane pushed a couple of nuts around—almonds. He had not thought of his meal as meager, but he supposed when compared to the vast feasts that humans sometimes prepared for themselves it was quite light indeed. "There is not much that appeals to my sense of taste aboard this ship. It is the case with most places throughout the galaxy. I have always had to make do with foreign cuisine. But," he did not want her to think of him as an ungrateful guest. "As I said, I do enjoy this."

"I think I kind of know what you mean, although I'm sure not to such a large scale." Her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips. "After I left Mindoir I had to get used to military food." She scrunched up her face, her nose wrinkling. " _Disgusting_. It's hard to like MREs when you're used to getting a home cooked meal every night. But, that's all they had for me. Not like there was a professional chef aboard. And I didn't get much opportunity to get off the ship, and then later the base, to buy a hot meal." Shepard gave a rueful laugh. "Not that I had any credits to spend on that, anyway. Farmers are traditionally poor. Orphans of farmers are even poorer." She flashed him a strange smile, as if she were sorry that she had talked about herself, and switched the conversation to him instead. "I'm sure your childhood was just as strange, growing up away from your family."

If she felt more comfortable taking the focus off of herself, then he could oblige her. "When I was a child, the Compact provided everything. My clothes. My meals. Personal effects were not allowed. I had to leave behind all of my toys, for instance." He shook his head, giving an amused hum. "Not that I would have had much use for them anyway." He leaned forward on his elbows, hands clasped before him. "We were nearly always kept apart from the outside world, training in isolation. But the few times that I did get a glimpse...  _I have to run to keep up with Master's quick step, but my pace keeps slowing to watch them; they laugh and chase each other. I wonder what lesson it teaches, how it translates to eliminating a target. I ask Master, but he is silent._  I felt... sorry for them. Strangely. I am sure they might have felt sorry for me, with my drab uniform, flinching away from Master's heavy hand. They wore such bright colors; they sang such light songs. But I was endowed with purpose; they, second and third children, they had no purpose."

Shepard's eyes looked sad. "Purpose…" She murmured almost absently to herself. "So," she continued. "You weren't upset that other children could go out and play and buy sweets and trinkets while you had to stay and train?"

Thane gave a slight shake of his head. "No. I had no credits anyway. I had no use for them. As I said, everything I needed was provided by the Compact."

She looked indignant. "So, that whole time you were training you weren't compensated at all? You just got room and board?"

He blinked; she was always so hasty to get offended on his behalf. "Hmm, no. That is not it at all. Credits were being set aside for me, to be released to me when I came of age. When I got them, it was actually quite a sizable amount. But... when one lives a life of bare necessity, of asceticism, for so long, one finds no real need for money. I saw no reason to buy extra clothes, for instance, when I could mend my own just as well. I saw no reason to buy lavish meals, when a simple spread of water and fruit satisfied me. I saw no reason to buy decorations for my small, rented room when a clean, empty space had become my definition of home." He tapped his middle fingers together. "I take it that such a life was more difficult for you?"

Shepard shrugged. "We were poor when I was young, but the whole colony was poor compared to the rest of the galaxy, so I never noticed it. I had everything I wanted. I would save my allowance for anything extravagant that I saw in an advertisement. But I wasn't used to being a charity case, which I was after everything happened. Any credits my parents had were tied up in the company that sponsored the colony—the rights of colonists are shit, really."

His chest gave a sympathetic rumble. "It seems to be a trait that crosses species—the willingness to take advantage of those who are weaker." He tilted his head at her, curious. "Did you get the company to release your rightful funds?"

"Well, I guess I'm glad that humanity can't claim sole rights to that." She gave him a small smile. "And no, after a bit I just didn't care. Money wouldn't bring my family back."

He was pleased by her detachment from such material things. There was no point in scrabbling after physical objects when all such things were transitory. "Ah, see, humans are not all that terrible. I think you give yourselves too little credit."

Shepard laughed, a shiver of glass bells. "I was under the impression that most of the galaxy didn't like us."

"Hmm, well, most of you are quite… brash. That can get…" He trailed off.

"Annoying?" She offered with a smile.

"Perhaps." He gave her a tiny smile in return. "You are not like that, though." He felt his voice go slightly lower and hoped she could still hear him. "It is what I… like about you. You consider things. You discuss matters. You are patient."

Her skin turned that pretty coral color again, accentuating her delicate pattern of scars. "So, most of humanity is comprised of jerks, but I'm okay because I'm not like them?"

An amused rumble vibrated his chest. "When you put it that way, my compliment does not appear to have been very successful."

"Oh, you're quite adept at flattery, have no fear." Her teasing words brightened the air with a spicy sweetness. "I wish I could offer some sort of observation regarding drell, but I confess that you are the only drell I've met. So, answer me this: are others of your race like you?"

He leaned back in his chair, feeling his eyelids half close, a pleased croon darkening his words. "Our personalities are as varied as the personalities in your own species. I am perhaps more… somber than most."

She mirrored his posture, a smiling note brightening her own voice. "Well, that's a relief. Otherwise drell parties must be some of the most serious ever."

His response to her was quick and light. "Yes, it is a room full of drell sitting across from each other and drinking tea while indulging in philosophy and tragic reflection." Her brow wrinkled, eyes confused, and he gave a pained hum, knowing that his deadpan humor fell flat once again. He leaned forward and felt his hand slide out before he could stop it, barely managing to halt his movement before he touched her patterned skin. "Not really, Shepard. Although I am sure they are not as wild as your human parties."

Her smile returned, and he purred his appreciation. "Oh, you know us. Jumping around like a bunch of feral monkeys."

Thane let out his breath in a thrumming sigh. "Yes, I know. When you humans take your meals in the mess, you are always so… enthusiastic."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Hey, that's not just us humans. Have you  _seen_  Grunt eat? And Mordin, you can't shut him up."

Thane bought his fingers up to drag them lightly across the table, tracing unseen patterns. "Garrus and Tali'Zorah are quite civilized. Perhaps that is due to your influence."

Shepard laughed again, and he was pleased with himself for providing the cause. "You're not quite what you appear to be, are you Thane?"

He tilted his head to the side, blinking. "And what do I appear to be?"

But she just gave him a mysterious smile, her eyes bright and shining. "It's my dinner time too. Why don't you bring your meal and follow me out there?"

But Thane hummed reprovingly, both for her avoidance of his question and her new request. "It is also dinner for everyone else. I find such noise... stressful, Shepard."

"Why is that?" She leaned forward in her chair, as if they were about to share a great secret. "You trust everyone aboard the ship, don't you?"

"Yes." He said quickly. "You trust them, so I trust them." He trilled, trying to find the words. "It is just... so much... I must be aware of everything. Do you understand?" He finished lamely, trying to catch her eyes with his.

"I do." Shepard said, her voice a low croon that made him relax. "You're used to seeing every situation as potential for danger. You only feel safe when you're alone." Her kelp eyes were dark, intense, and he felt himself drowning in them. " I want you to feel safe with us, though. Don't hide yourself away, Thane. Come sit with us."

And suddenly Thane understood her ultimate motivation in coming to see him this evening—this was her plan all along, to get him to come out to eat in the mess. She disarmed him with her conversation, made him feel comfortable, at ease, and then she... asked this of him.

He felt a rising annoyance—why should she ask this of him? Why did it matter that he ate alone? It did not affect his performance. He was doing the job he had been hired to do, nothing more. Too much, she asked too much.

But as quickly as the irritation came, it was gone. She was not being unreasonable. She seemed to be doing this because she... cared about his well being. That was... No one had cared whether he lived or died, much less whether he was being too insular, for a long time. Irikah had... she had...  _I find myself relenting, melting, under her teasing touch along my throat, but I try stubbornly to hide it. "I went out to the market festival_ last _week, Irikah. What could they possibly have that is different this time?" Her purring song coaxes out harmonizing notes from my own chest. "We won't know until we go." She knows she's won, I can see it in her eyes, but she trails fingers down the back of my neck, nuzzling her face in the hollow of my throat. Her words vibrate through me. "You'll have fun, I promise."_ He may not particularly wish to do as she asked, but she meant well. She was trying to help him.

He had been quiet for a few moments, and Shepard shifted nervously in her seat. Thane immediately regretted causing her discomfort and hastened to reply to her. "As you wish, Shepard." It was not such a hardship that he could not submit to it for one night.

Her smile was instant and beautiful. "Come on, then. We have to hurry or there won't be any seats left. Cerberus may have given us fancy leather seats, but I would have taken good old plastic ones if they had just given us enough of them."

And so he found himself sitting at the table between Shepard and Jack, protecting his food from Jack's flailing elbows as she described her take over of a space station in great detail to Zaeed, who kept interjecting his own little stories from across the table.

He avoided another elbow to the face before he felt a slight touch on his shoulder. "Yes, Commander?" He glanced over to her, keeping one eye on Jack.

She gave him a sympathetic smile. "Scoot your chair closer to me. She can get... pretty animated."

Thane moved his chair over without delay, thankful to be out of the biotic's range, but now he was almost too close to Shepard, their knees brushing against each other, their upper arms just barely touching. Her warmth was... "Sorry." He murmured, starting to adjust his seat again.

"It's okay." She said around a mouthful of food. She speared some more greens from her bowl. "You're fine."

Garrus leaned forward from his seat on the other side of Shepard, catching Thane's eye. "So, what brings you out of your cave to join the rest of us mortals, Krios?"

"Garrus." Shepard had a warning note in her voice.

But Thane didn't mind. "The Commander asked me, and I will not deny her."

Shepard focused on her salad, flushing. He could feel her heat, wanted to press himself against her to absorb it all in the chilly air of the mess hall. "We all need to get to know each other outside of battle." She mumbled.

Garrus elbowed her before turning to his plate. "Ah, Shepard. Savior of the Citadel. First human Spectre. Perfect hostess."

She grinned at her turian friend. "Compared to all of you savages, yeah. I'm a regular Consort over here."

"Oh my." Garrus fluttered his mandibles, eyes glinting mischievously. "I didn't know you offered  _that_  sort of service."

She laughed, throwing her head back to expose the pale expanse of her throat. Thane watched her exchange with Garrus with unrestrained curiosity, absentmindedly putting his fruit in his mouth. Her fiery hair dipped low in her face; she tucked it behind her ear with a slender finger. Her arm brushed against him again, soft and supple; he let loose a flustered purr at the contact, and she gave a hushed apology.

"Hey, Krios." Jack poked him in his side, and he turned to face her, eye ridge raised. "Tell this son of a bitch over here that just because he took down that turian warship that doesn't put him on the same playing field as me taking down a fucking space station."

Thane hummed, eyes flicking between Jack and Zaeed, both scowling. "I truly do not think I am the best mediator—my quarry tends to be far less ambitious."

"Goddamn bloody assassins." Zaeed scoffed. "Not that I have a problem with you. Reminds me of the time..."

"Oh for fuck's sake...!" Jack rolled her eyes. "Listen here old man..."

"Thane." He jerked his gaze over to see Mordin settling himself a couple of seats down. "Glad you're here. Was going to message you. Want to set up an appointment to take another biopsy."

"Yes, of course, I..." Thane began.

"Also wanted to talk to you about your diet." He motioned to Thane's meager fare. "Not getting entire complement of necessary amino acids. Suggest adding more lean meat products into your meals." He brought up his omni tool. "Can forward a set of recommended menus to you."

"Oh leave him alone, Mordin." Tali shouted down the table, soft eyes somehow conveying her exasperation. "The poor man is trying to eat  _now_." She waved to Thane. "Hi there! Welcome to complete chaos! Aren't you glad you came out to join us?"

"I..."

"Ha! Chaos?" Grunt cut Thane off and squeezed himself into the last empty chair next to the salarian, plate overflowing with some greasy meat dish that made Thane want to heave a little. It smelled  _awful_. "As if anything but chaos could be in my battlemaster's wake!" He waved a fork in the air with a pale piece of gristle impaled on it. "Drell, listen. I took some more pictures. I want you to come and see them, compare them with your memories."

"Holy fuck, Grunt what the  _hell_  are you eating?" Jack said, face scrunched and tongue poked out. "Is that the same piece of meat from  _last night_?"

"I didn't finish it!" Grunt shouted indignantly. "What was I supposed to do?  _Waste_  it?"

"It smells like a sweaty elcor that just finished taking a dip in the ward sewers." Garrus said, mandibles fanning over his mouth while Shepard held her nose and leaned away from the table.

"Advise against eating that, Grunt." Mordin said, edging away. "Will not help you when you come in with severe indigestion."

Grunt bellowed his laughter. "Soft little weaklings! As if I could be defeated by this insignificant piece of..."

"Oh Keelah." Tali said, grabbing her bowl and standing up. "I can see where this is going."

"Yup." Shepard stood as Grunt shoveled the first mouthful in. "Time to call it a night."

"What?" Grunt cried around his half chewed bite, blue eyes wide.

Thane took their departure as a gift from the gods and stood as well, backing up from the table with haste as the others also began to retreat. "It has been a pleasure, colleagues, truly." He tried to say it over the din of the crewmembers' complaints, but he didn't think anyone heard him. It didn't matter. He had made the effort. Without any further delay, he clutched the remainder of his food to his chest and fled to his room.

The silence that enveloped him as soon as the door closed was blessedly comforting. He shed his jacket, hanging it on the back of his chair, and lay down on his cot, his food uneaten on the table. He wasn't hungry anymore. Closing his eyes, he crooned a song to Arashu, feeling himself relax with each note, Her golden presence a warm balm on his soul.

What a disaster.

He knew there was a reason he ate by himself, and this evening confirmed it. He just  _couldn't_  do that every night, and had the awful feeling that Shepard was going to expect him to. How could he say no to her? He had to think of an excuse  _now_ …

But everything that crossed his mind sounded whining and petulant. The mature, gracious thing to do was to give up an hour of his life every night to please his Commander, but… well, it's not like he had a lot of hours to give up.

So, he lay there on his bed for a couple of hours, going over different scenarios in his mind and rejecting each one in turn. She would get what she wanted, of that he was sure. Her voice would assume that low, reasonable pitch that made him feel relaxed and accepting; her eyes would be bright and arresting; perhaps her pale skin would take on that glowing pink, and he would be taken in by her pretty scars…  _She shakes her brilliant hair free from her helmet, the setting sun of Illium catching it as the shuttle drifts up through the atmosphere. The glow of the sunset illuminates her pale skin, blends in with her bright scars, and she turns to him with a tired smile._ She could probably ask him to do almost anything, and he would agree without hesitation, regretting his promise almost as soon as he made it. He admired her talent for talking her way through problems rather than shooting—it was what he respected the most about her on the battlefield; she did not rely only on her strength, she also relied on peaceful persuasion.

Of course, when that same talent was turned on him, he did not appreciate it as much.

He opened his eyes, finding the patterns on the ceiling and following their paths with his gaze. He supposed he ought to get used to the idea that he would be spending his evenings in the mess, and he was starting to come to terms with that—perhaps if he made sure to sit next to some of the quieter ones, like Tali'Zorah and Garrus, it wouldn't be so bad; perhaps if he just focused on eating and keeping out of any and all conversation he could get out of there quickly; perhaps if he continually made depressing comments about his impending death it would make everyone feel uncomfortable and they would give him a wide berth—when his omnitool shimmered to life, letting him know he got a message.

It was… Shepard…

" _I just wanted to thank you for coming out tonight. I really appreciated you taking time out to do something that I'm sure you didn't really want to do. I hope that spending time with us has lessened your discomfort in dealing with the crew as a whole crowd. I'd like to see you out there again, but if you don't want to, I understand and respect that. I'm just glad that you tried it once. Have a pleasant (and quiet) remainder of your evening."_

Thane blinked, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He was pleased for a couple of reasons. First, he would not have to go to the mess again at dinner time unless he really wanted to. That was a huge relief. Second, it was touching that Shepard had thought to message him in order to check up on him, as it were. She was a very attentive employer. He wished that there was a way he could eat meals with just her; sharing food with her, engaging in easy conversation, was an activity that he thought he could indulge in with delight every evening.  _Her pink seaberry mouth puckers as she blows the steam off of her tea; her breath is sweet, mingled with the heady scent of green leaves and fresh blossoms. Her eyes, green like sea forests, green like shallows, green like arching waves pierced by precious rays of sunlight, rise to look at him. Her voice, low and rhythmic like the tide, calls forth an answering swelling song from him._

And yet, even as he thought of sitting with her, just her, in the mess, he heard the soft sounds of someone moving out in the kitchen, water pouring from the tap, cupboard doors opening and closing. And, again, even though he had no reason to believe it was Shepard, he  _knew_  that she was out there. There was something about the sounds, quick and sure, that told him that it was Shepard and no one else. He could picture her, slender fingers like little darting fish, almost too quick to see, coming up to slide through bright hair, keeping it out of lucent eyes.

While part of him was a tad reluctant to go out there, she might want solitude as much as he did after such a meal, the other part was eager to speak with her, to perhaps share a cup of tea with her before she retired to bed. It was awfully presumptuous of him to simply walk on out there, assume that she would want to spend time with him, but before he knew it he was swinging his legs off of his cot. He stretched after remaining motionless for so long, easing out his muscles and grabbing his jacket and slipping it on, adjusting his collar. It would not be so terrible to go out there to simply grab a cup of tea. If she was busy, if she was not interested in speaking with him, he could simply take it back to his room. There would be no harm in it.

And when he went out there, Shepard was just sitting down, alone with only a few datapads and a cup of tea to keep her company. She looked up on his arrival and smiled. "Oh hi Thane. I was just going over some mission briefs. There's still a bit of water in the kettle if you were coming out here to pour yourself a cup."

Her welcoming words were a relief to him. "Ah, thank you. Would you mind if... I was hoping that I might sit with you?" He avoided her eyes, looking instead to his cup as he poured the water.

"Oh, I don't mind at all." He hazarded a glance and a smile at her, and she returned it before looking down at her datapads, flicking through screens as he dipped his tea bag into the steaming cup. "It's much more manageable now when it's nice and quiet, right?"

"Indeed." He took a seat across from her,  _her knee touches his, and he feels an irrational thrill race up his spine as he struggles to control the flushing of his throat,_ wrapping his hands around his cup of tea. "This is infinitely preferable."

She pushed her datapad aside to turn her attention to him fully; he was flattered by the gesture. "Did you get my message?" At his nod, she continued. "Listen—I wanted to say again that am really grateful for you coming out for dinner tonight. But I don't want you to be uncomfortable, and I know your time is… precious." She looked down now, coloring the air with a light touch of sadness. "So, I don't want you to feel pressured to come out again. If you want to, great. But if you don't, I won't mind."

Shepard's consideration of him was touching. Feeling as though someone thought of him as more than merely a weapon, a tool, was unfamiliar to him—he had not felt such these past ten years. Thane reached out to brush his fingers across her slender hand before he could stop himself, wanting to touch her, to communicate to her the depth of his appreciation. Her skin was soft; he regretted the roughened calluses on his scaled fingers. She looked up at him, surprised, and he withdrew his hand, remembering too late that humans did not like casual touch. It was strange to him—they could not sing to each other; they could not touch each other. How could they rely on mere language, so imperfect, to convey their meaning?

But rely on language he must. "Thank you." He murmured, resting his eyes on her fair hands rather than her eyes. "I cannot say that I will come out every night, but perhaps sometimes? I think that is a fair compromise, yes?"

"More than fair." He heard the smile in her voice, and looked up again to catch her gaze. Her kelp eyes were so bright, so fine.

* * *

 **A/N:**  This one was more difficult to get out than I thought it was going to be. It's a challenge to keep the relationship at the same pace as it was in "For Such Loss..." My dearest beta, Dreamer in Silico, was a complete delight in helping me rein in these headstrong characters and force them to stay on the path I've laid out. So, if you like this chapter, you should thank her. ^_^


	9. Shall I at Least Set My Lands in Order?

He didn't know how it could have happened.

One moment he was sitting, content, with Shepard in the mess, having just finished helping her with her overflowing administrative duties, and a second later, Rayna's message shattered everything.

" _Drop whatever you're doing and get to the Citadel. Your son is there. He has taken a contract. Stop him. I'm on Omega. Can't get there in time. Message me so I know you have this._ "

Thane was completely floored for a good few moments, his mind moving in panicked little circles, his normal calm, calculated reaction to situations shattered by an explosion of oppressive fear. Kolyat was supposed to be on Kahje. He was supposed to be with his aunt. She had said that he was doing well, that he had been studying at the university, getting good marks, taking up painting like his mother… Why would that suddenly change? Why would he leave his home, his family, and… and…

"Thane…"

He opened startled eyes to see Shepard looking at him with some concern. He realized that he had stood, chair shoved back as if he meant to run off somewhere. The words left him before he could check the emotion that bled through, barely controlled panic, barely contained fear. "Kolyat, my son…" He stopped, trying to stifle the rising trill of distress. "I believe I must ask for your assistance."

She blinked and took a step forward, and he drew in a shuddering breath, forcibly calming himself and his words. A prayer to Arashu— _Sweet Mother, keep my child safe; walk before him in the sands that he might trace Your steps and come home to me—_ hummed in the back of his mind, and he felt himself relax. He could panic later. Right now, he had to act. "I apologize for my tone. I have just received upsetting news regarding my son. It appears… I do not know why… but it seems that he has decided to follow in my footsteps. He has taken a contract. He is on the Citadel." Thane could not help but imagine Kolyat as he last saw him, so small, so slender, all alone in a hostile world, surrounded by enemies who had long since perfected the art of taking life, his clumsy, tiny hands too small to hold the rifle… His voice grew rough with a distraught hum, and he struggled to make himself more intelligible to her human ears. "Shepard, he has no training. He is not a killer, he… he might…"

"Okay." She sat a calming hand on his shoulder. "It's okay. At the Citadel, you said? I'll change course immediately. We can be there in a few hours."

Shepard's words were a balm for his soul. He wanted to press his wrists to hers, to fold her against him so she could feel his crooning pleasure and gratitude and relief, so that she might sing a song of comfort back to him, but he contented himself with a nod, sadly knowing that any one of those actions would be unwelcome by her human standards. "Thank you. I must investigate how this came to be in the first place. Will you give me a moment? I will report back to you with all I know shortly."

"Right." She started to turn away, calling back over her shoulder. "I'll be up in the cockpit with Joker, and then I'll be in my cabin. Come find me there when you're ready."

They separated in front of the elevator, Shepard going up to the CIC deck, and Thane retreating into his room. He barely waited until the door closed behind him to bring up his omnitool and message Rayna, asking for a video conference. He needed to  _speak_  to her; typing would not do.

She had anticipated his need, allowed the connection instantly. "Krios. Are you on your way?" Rayna stood in a shadowy room, the pulse of bass an obscene heart beat in the background. He could almost taste the stale sweat in the air around her. It had been years since he had seen her last; she looked older, tired. Her dark violet scales looked dusty, and the once-brilliant green along the ridges on her head did not stand out as brightly, but her eyes still flashed dangerously; they pierced his spirit now, giving his attention sharp focus, as they always had.

"Yes." He couldn't stop himself from pacing around the room, as if he could get to the Citadel faster if he just kept moving. "How did you know? What happened? Tell me everything."

She leaned against the wall behind her. "Mutual contact of ours. Said you had taken a contract on the Citadel. I said that was ridiculous—I knew that you had accepted the one with Cerberus, and it wasn't finished yet. Looked into it, and..." Her disappointed trill reached his ears. "What were you _thinking_? Leaving some sort of strange, morbid message to be delivered on your death?"

Her words made him stop, struck into stillness. He heard her admonitions even if she didn't voice them.  _Stupid. Sloppy._  "I... I have no idea how it got sent early. I gave the information to volus bankers. It should not have been released."

Rayna shook her head, humming angrily at him. "No, that's not the point. Why would you do that in the first place? Why wouldn't you  _talk_  to him?"

But Thane had no answer to that. He only gave an aching, shuddering rumble, and Rayna blinked her eyes slowly, the fire in them settling to a low smolder. "Fine. That's not the immediate problem anyway. My contact didn't know precisely who the target was. A turian, he thought. I'd check with C-Sec. They'll probably give you some leads. I also called Irikah's sister. Thought she might know something, but she didn't. Kolyat had told her he was spending a week with a friend in a different city for an art internship. She had no idea he had left Kahje."

Thane felt a sharp stab of empathy for his poor sister—she must be fretting just as much as he was right now except she was stuck planet-side, even more helpless than he was. He murmured a quick prayer for her, hoping the gods would give her some measure of peace until this was all concluded. Lelaka might not be related to Thane by blood, but drell didn't share the concept of in-laws with other species in the galaxy. Family was family, and once two drell joined together, the two families merged as though they had always been related. Thane didn't understand why other races thought of family in terms of in-laws; it was terribly impersonal. Should he not care as much for Lelaka simply because they do not share parents? The idea was abhorrent to him.

As for himself, Thane couldn't deny that a part of him wished he were small again, so he could curl against Rayna's side, and she could wrap her arm around him, petting the ridges on the back of his neck like his mother used to do to get him to sleep. She was also not his blood relation, but he could think of her in no other terms. Rayna was always there for him, always looking after him. He doubted he deserved such attention. "Thank you. I owe you, yet again, Rayna."

She let out a soft hiss, her eyes sad and distant. "Pay me back by saving your fool of a child—and by refraining from being such a fool yourself in the future." Her voice lowered to a rumbling mutter as she moved to end the connection. "Enkindlers preserve us, stupidity must run in the damn family; got none of little Irikah's good sense..."

And then the connection went dark, and Thane waved off his omnitool, left only to his own thoughts. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his lungs hitching painfully. So Kolyat had received the package. Thane hadn't put much in there. Credits, of course, were transferred over, but more importantly, there were relics of his past—a holo of Mouse, the blue stone charm he'd woven for Irikah, his first set of blades, the bullet casing from the first, lethal shot he had fired at six years old—and also a message.

It had been brief. Thane knew no other way to impart the information. " _Kolyat—if you are receiving this, then I have gone to join your mother in the Sea. These things I have given you, they each represent parts of my past. I give them to you in an attempt to explain what must have confused, and perhaps hurt, you greatly over the years. I... I spent most of my life as an agent of the Compact. My arm was theirs. Through their will, I took the lives of those that threatened them."_

Thane didn't even know if Kolyat would have been interested in hearing what he had to say. It was entirely possible that his son would have deleted the message in a fit of anger—his aunt, Lelaka, had sometimes dropped hints that Kolyat was still quite incensed over the years. But Thane still took the time to explain the importance of each of the trinkets, ended the message by telling Kolyat that he loved him, cherished him, and hoped that in time, his son would see fit to forgive Thane's transgressions.

He resumed his pacing, letting loose an anxious, throttling hum, his boots slapping softly against the metal floor. But, Kolyat now did something that Thane had never anticipated—his son should  _hate_  him; why would he, instead of avoiding all that reminded him of his father, seek out the very profession that had destroyed their family? It simply did not make sense.

He coughed, trying to clear his throat. Kolyat had always been a passionate child, but never violent, never hurtful.  _He cradles the tiny seabird in cupped hands, looking up at me with dark eyes swimming in tears. "It hit the window, Father, I think it's hurt." He holds it up to me, pleading. "Help it, please, don't let it die."_   _I_ —

But the memory shattered as Thane's cough suddenly erupted into a series of choking gasps; each breath was like drawing in shards of glass, and before he knew it he was on his knees, holding himself up with one hand, the other over his throat, as if he could remove some invisible garrote closing around his neck. His lungs felt heavy, full, and he could distantly hear himself trying and failing to draw in aborted gurgling breaths, each one sounding wet and horrifying.

His instinct was to curl over himself, make himself smaller, as if he could be saved by just remaining quiet and still. But he forced himself to sit up, raising his arms over his head to stretch out, giving his airways as much opportunity as possible to start working again, and after another painful moment, blinking back involuntary tears, his lungs relaxed, and he took a small breath, stopping himself from immediately filling his lungs again and possibly triggering another attack.

He kept his breathing slow and even, and soon he was breathing easy again—or as easy as usual.

"Professor Solus is on his way, Sere Krios." EDI's calm voice sounded throughout the room.

"No." He croaked out, his voice still not quite back yet, standing up on unsteady legs. "I am fine."

"You appeared to be having a medical emergency. Your oxygen levels were dangerously low."

"And now I am well." His words had a hard edge to them, and he felt sorry—EDI may be an AI, but he still should not be rude to her. She was trying to help, after all. "Please, EDI, I thank you for your attention, but tell the Professor that I am fine. I will see him later."

She was quiet for a moment. "Very well. I have belayed the order. But I must put this incident in your medical logs."

"I understand. Thank you."

He wondered if she still watched him, her voice silent but her gaze always present. It was comforting and unsettling at the same time. Now, of course, he  _would_  have to see Mordin, an event he did not look forward to, but that would have to wait. His son needed him, and he had promised Shepard information. While he did not have much, he could at least give her what he had.

As he rode the lift up to her cabin, he could not deny that part of him also desired Shepard's company; merely being able to speak with her, to work out his problems verbally instead of being trapped inside his own thoughts, was of great comfort to him. It had been a habit of his to seek silence and solitude, but meeting Shepard had changed that for him; he was no longer content to sequester himself away. Especially now, the horrific images his own mind presented of the possible futures were something that he wanted to avoid at all costs, and he knew that being with Shepard would help him focus on something other than his imagination, even if that distraction was as simple as contemplating her bright eyes.

The door was unlocked, but he felt uncomfortable just walking in—this was her space—so he palmed a query into the door, waiting with his hands clasped behind his back for her to admit him. The door opened immediately, and Thane walked in to see Shepard standing over her terminal, flicking through the news nets. His eyes moved automatically over her cabin—it was an almost instinctual habit whenever he walked into a room he had never been in before.

The room was almost luxurious, certainly not what he had expected for a military commander. But then, he reminded himself, this was no longer a military ship. The bed looked large and comfortable, but it also seemed strangely sterile, as though she did not sleep often in it. The lounge area with a couch that wrapped along a corner felt the same; he could not truly picture her entertaining people there. She did have what enthusiasts would call an impressive collection of model ships—a quirk that he hadn't expected and that made him smile despite his overarching anxiety. But the most pleasing aspect of her room was the large fish tank along one wall—the soft sounds of the bubbles and gentle light that cast wavering lines on the ground made him feel a bit more at ease.

Shepard straightened from the terminal, turning to face him. "I've been cruising the nets for updates from the Citadel to see if I can find any information that might be useful to us." She shook her head, frowning. "Haven't found anything. Of course, it doesn't help that I have almost no idea what to look for. I also want to send a message off to Bailey, but I wanted to wait until I got whatever information I could get from you."

Thane nodded, grateful to her for taking such interest in his problem. "I spoke to Rayna." He paused, remembering that Shepard did not know who she was. It seemed odd to him that Shepard didn't simply know these things about him; he had to remind himself that he had not known his Commander for as long as it felt like he did. "Rayna is an old… mentor, friend, of mine. She is the one who was alerted to Kolyat's activity. Apparently Kolyat received some information about me that…" Thane trailed off again, suddenly feeling apprehensive. "He found out what I am, what I do. For some reason, I truly do not know why, he has decided to try to emulate me."

Shepard's brows furrowed. "He didn't know? How were you able to keep it from him all these years?"

"I…" As comfortable as Thane felt with Shepard, he still did not relish the thought of airing every awful thing about himself to her. For as much as he rationalized his decision to leave Kolyat behind, he knew that there were those who took exception to it—Lelaka, as well as the rest of Irikah's family, was not too keen on it, Rayna's humming disappointment still rang in his head, and he felt that Shepard probably wouldn't like it very much either. But… he owed it to Shepard to tell her the truth. "I have not seen Kolyat for ten years. He was so young when I left. I asked that the information be kept from him until after I…" The silent word hung heavy in the air between them.

"I don't understand." Shepard said after a few quiet moments. "Why haven't you seen him?"

Thane shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "After Irikah's death… I was… at a loss. I did not know what to do with myself. Days were long; nights were longer. My soul was so profoundly disconnected from my body that I do not even really remember clearly what happened during those days. They melt into each other; a sea of trivial tasks that hold no meaning. Lelaka, Irikah's sister, took care of Kolyat during this time. After several weeks of this, I came to a decision: Irikah's killers had to die, and I had to leave Kolyat behind." Shepard's eyes were soft with compassion, but Thane looked away from them; he did not deserve it. "It was not an easy decision, you must understand. Leaving my son. But what else could I do? I had already killed Irikah. How could I live with the knowledge that I killed my son as well?"

" _You_  didn't kill her." Shepard frowned fiercely. "Do  _not_  blame yourself."

"And who shall I blame then?" Thane shot back. "Who else but myself could have protected her? Who  _should_  have been there? It was my duty, my privilege, to protect her, my gift from the Goddess, and I  _failed_." Shepard's eyes widened at the anger in his voice, and he shook his head. "I apologize. I did not mean to…" He let out a frustrated rumble, steering the conversation back to Kolyat. "As I said, it was not an easy decision. But it was the logical one. I had never been very… present in his life anyway. I was gone for months at a time, abandoned them long before I left Kolyat in Lelaka's care. It was nothing dramatic, mind you, no final argument or slammed door. I just… did my job. Away on business, Irikah always said. I was always away on business." He was silent for a moment, feeling a small snippet of a memory come on...

 _She stands with her back to me, looking out the window to the waves crashing against the shore. "Another couple of months, then? You'll miss Kolyat's birthday." The resignation in her voice hurts far more than any amount of anger she could muster_. He kept the memory to himself, unwilling to share it with Shepard, unwilling to reveal all of his inadequacies, all of his failures, in one evening. "I knew that he would be hurt, but how can one really miss something that had never been there in the first place? Lelaka is a kind woman, and she loves Kolyat; I knew he would be happy with her. Safe with her. If he grew up hating me, then so be it. It was better to have him alive and hating me than dead and loving me."

Shepard was quiet, but he could tell that she harbored a myriad of thoughts behind her eyes. He felt as if they must damn him, and he looked away from her eyes, preferring instead to look at the floor, the fish tank, her desk…

Her desk.

He had been taught as a child of other species' almost obsessive desire to keep pictures of loved ones and cherished memories. He had felt sorry for them, such poor people who could not carry all of these images within. What would they do if the pictures were lost? What happened to their memories? Their identities?

And Shepard herself was not immune to this desperate cradling of memories; she too kept a picture of one she cherished. His eyes fell on an image that he knew, from watching the coverage of her funeral, to be Kaidan Alenko. He was startled by the realization that she must still care for him a great deal. When she had mentioned him, he had the impression that she had been too angered by his reception of her to continue to hold him in her heart, but… Apparently she still felt affection for him.

It was a jarring observation, one that threw him temporarily off his track. He was happy for her, of course, yes of course he was happy that she had someone she loved. He hoped that this Alenko would realize how foolish he was being and return that affection soon.

A gentle touch made him let out a soft hiss. "Thane?"

He blinked; Shepard had moved forward, touched his shoulder lightly, guiding his thoughts away from their distracting occupation. He looked over at her slight hand, fingers long and graceful, pale against his dark leathers, and suppressed the urge to cover it with his own.

And then her hand was gone, twisted in her other, as if she regretted touching him. He clasped his hands behind his back, suddenly uncomfortable, wishing to just speak of the task at hand. "Hmm, yes. You wished to send a message to Captain Bailey? Unfortunately, I do not have any information beyond what I have told you—Kolyat is simply on the Citadel. Rayna did not know who the target was other than it may be a turian. But, not many drell leave Kahje. A drell passing through customs would have been noted. Perhaps that could give us someplace to start?"

"All right." Shepard turned back to her terminal, relief coloring her voice. "I'll send the message now."

Thane stared at her back for a moment, straight and slender; she leaned her weight on one foot, balancing her other foot on the tip of her toes. She always looked so small without her armor. He could almost forget that she was so formidable if he could not see the easy, almost dangerous grace with which she held herself, the light play of muscle underneath taut skin. "Thank you. I appreciate this more than you know."

She glanced over at him, but kept typing her message. "It's no problem at all, Thane. We'll fix this. Don't worry."

He had no doubt that Shepard, more than anyone else in the galaxy, could say that with complete confidence. She seemed to accomplish anything she wanted, regardless of probability. "With you by my side, Shepard, I believe that we will."

* * *

The simultaneous grief and joy at seeing his son again rocked Thane to the core. He was so tall, so slender, with his mother's long, slim fingers, and the way he carried himself, hesitant in his youth, was still with that same fluid grace that Irikah had, a dancer, an artist. Thane couldn't help but think of Kolyat when he was younger, lanky and awkward, all knees and elbows—such a skinny, fragile boy—and then look on the young man before him, holding himself with a careless, almost haughty air, grown into his body at last, made Thane ache with pride and delight.

But the gun in Kolyat's hand was a jarring juxtaposition, an unnatural accessory. Thane hated it, wanted to rip it out of his hands and crush it into the ground, breaking it into a million pieces and scattering them away. It was wrong. It was terrible.

 _The rifle rests between his legs, almost larger than he is, tiny hands playing over the scope, the barrel, the trigger._  The situation was different now. Now his Kolyat, his child, now he no longer fumbled in childish innocence. Now he intended to cause pain. And that, almost more than Irikah's death, made Thane want to weep.

He knew that he could disarm Kolyat. It would be simple. Thane's mind automatically analyzed his son's stance, noticed how it was not wide enough, stable enough, how it would be easy to knock him off balance, lock his arm behind his back, pinch the nerves to make the fingers go slack and drop the gun.

But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

He didn't want his first interaction with his son, the first time he touched his son in ten years to be a painful disarmament. So Thane stood there, uncertain and unhappy, taking the verbal barbs Kolyat threw his way—his son really  _did_  hate him, or at least was incredibly angry—until Shepard did what Thane could not.

Thane caught the gun underneath his foot when Shepard kicked it back, bending down to pick it up, tucking it in the back of his trousers, under his jacket, an automatic motion. It was easier to rely on instinct in this moment, to let his body move while his soul stood back, aloof, untouched by the turmoil and the grief. But that would not do. He could not remain impassive in the face of Kolyat's anger, could not remain emotionless in the face of Kolyat's cutting words—how could he know how to hurt Thane so completely, so thoroughly? "You weren't there when she was alive." He snarled, lip curling like his mother's used to when she became angry. "Why would you be there when she  _died_?" Thane thought it would be easier if Kolyat had simply shot him in the chest, would be easier to simply fade away and die rather than hear all of the crippling accusations that Thane had harbored within his own mind hurled at him like bright knives by the one person in the galaxy that he cared the most for.

But Thane had fled from his son for long enough. He simply didn't have the luxury of time to backpedal, to retreat until he felt up to the task of facing his son, somehow more daunting than anything he had ever done in his life. So, unmindful of the room full of strangers, he explained himself as well as he could in short, broken sentences, struggling to put into words the degree of his guilt, the weight of his responsibility. A song of contrition hummed along the edge of his words, touching each one with remorse and sorrow and self-loathing. Kolyat said nothing at first, holding himself still and coiled, but as Thane continued, he relaxed bit by bit, finally easing out broken notes of his own, a fractured answer that was a good start—it was more of a pale echo of Thane's crooning than anything—but it was better than nothing.

Kolyat had stalked off to the interrogation room, but Thane felt his steps slow as he neared the door; he felt as if he walked to his own execution. His eyes slid automatically to Shepard, unable to stop himself from casting one last look at her before he faced his son. Her own eyes seemed to mirror the worry in his, her brow furrowed and a slight frown tugging down her lips. But when she caught his gaze, she offered him a weak smile, seeming to sense his pathetic helplessness, stepping forward to press her fingers on his arm.

"You were dead to him." She murmured, leaning close to him, her breath warm and sweet on his face. "I know what it's like to be alone, to feel that everyone has died and left you. Don't pretend like you know what he went through. You don't. Just listen."

He covered her hand with his own, ran his thumb down her fingers, wishing they weren't covered with her gloves. "Thank you. I..." He trailed off, unable to think of anything to say even to her.

But then she slid away from him, kelp eyes bright and sad, and all he could offer her was a trill of gratitude before he turned to cross the threshold.

And now Thane and Kolyat sat across from each other in one of Bailey's interrogation rooms. Kolyat sat with his arms folded tightly across his chest, staring down at the dull metal of the table, a frown seemingly permanently etched into his face, balancing an ankle on his knee. Thane leaned his elbows on the table, hands lightly clasped before him, trying to catch his son's eyes and failing utterly.

They sat in silence for many moments. Kolyat seemed perfectly fine with the thought of sitting there without making a single sound, and for his part, Thane could not think of a single thing to say that did not sound incredibly trite and pathetic. How does one initiate a conversation with a child that one has not seen in a decade? Especially right after one has prevented that child from shooting a turian in the back of a head? It was… awkward.

A dozen starts grew in his head, made their way toward the tip of his tongue, and died before they ever left his mouth. He wished Irikah could lean forward and whisper something in his ear—she was always so much better at anything involving tact or conversation. Of course, if she were here to whisper it, then…

And Kolyat had been easier to deal with when he was younger. Thane could reason with him, coax him out of his passionate moods, or, if all else failed, pull him up into the air and twirl him around until the frown was replaced with shrieking laughter, and Thane would sink down to the floor with him, both of them dizzy from the spinning, their laughter dying down as they each caught their breath.

That was not a tactic he could employ now.

So… what to do, then? Perhaps he could start at the beginning; it was, usually, the best place to start. "How did you get my message?"

Kolyat was quiet for a long moment, not even moving to acknowledge Thane's question, and he started wondering if he had even spoken the words aloud. Perhaps they had been in his head. He opened his mouth to repeat them when Kolyat's frown deepened. "Some volus was waiting when I got home. Said you were dead, gave me this box full of crap and left."

Thane shifted in his seat. "You were not supposed to get that."

"Obviously." The one word was dripping with sarcasm, and Thane winced.

"I just… I do not understand, Kolyat. Why did you do this?"

His son let loose a flippant trill and cocked his head. "I wanted a way off that soggy shit hole for years. Suddenly I had the money to do so. I knew I needed a way to keep making money though—what was I supposed to do? Paint my way through the galaxy? I figured if someone like you could be such a damn failure and still make money, I certainly could do it."

Thane swallowed. "Kolyat, that was… you could have gotten yourself killed."

His eyes narrowed. "Really? Seemed to me I was doing just fine until you and that human messed everything up."

Thane chose to let that go. "The life of a... killer... is not one you should seek. I did not wish that for you. I would not wish that for anyone."

Kolyat looked up at him for the first time, eyes flashing and defiant. "Huh. See, the way I figure it is that you lost whatever rights you might claim over my life when you left me with Aunt Lelaka ten years ago. So, whatever you want? I don't really care."

Thane blinked rapidly, a rough humming note coloring his words. "I thought you would be happy with her. Safe with her. My goal, my purpose, was to spare you further pain. But I see now that I have failed you. I... I am sorry."

But his son scoffed, a hiss threading its way through his teeth. "A little too late for that."

Too late. Yes, it was too late for a lot of things. "I wish that… I had hoped that there might be… some way… that… I know I cannot make amends, but…"

"Oh for Arashu's sake." Kolyat leaned forward, pressing his fingers in his eyes. "Spit it out."

Thane frowned at the use of the Goddess' name, but let it slide. "What can I do?" He shook his head, trilling softly. As if there were some action that he could perform that would take all of this away. If only it were that easy. "There is nothing really, is there? You think I do not understand how you feel, and I know that you are right, but I hope that… I hope that is something I might change, if you will let me try. I want to help you find peace, if I can, because that is not something our family has had enough of."

His eyes were chipped obsidian, sharp, flashing, and jagged. "Peace?" He scoffed. "You could have given me peace by actually  _being dead_  right now instead of meddling in my life right when I don't want you to."

The words cut Thane to the quick, and he let loose a surprised and sad trill, jerking back in his chair as if his son had physically struck him. But Kolyat shook his head, crooning regretfully. "Oceans, that's not what I meant. I don't want you to… It's just… why did you have to wait this long? I prayed to the gods  _every day_  for you to come back, and you never did. When I got that message… I was finally able to close that chapter. It wasn't easy, but I did. And now here you are. Oh, and by the way, you're dying. Great time to come back, Father."

Lelaka had stopped mentioning any instance of Kolyat asking about him seven years ago. Thane had simply assumed that... But to know that his son had still wanted him there, and still prayed for his return... Thane knew he had been hurting his son. But faced now with the sorrow that he had caused was dreadful, and though he had justified his actions all of these years, for the first time, Thane wished he would have done things differently.

Any apology Thane could offer felt inadequate and ridiculously small compared to the enormity of his transgression, like trying to stop the rise of the tide with a pair of cupped hands. Instead he chose to be honest with Kolyat and hoped that his son would appreciate the gesture more than any mess of contrite words. "I would understand if you wish me to leave you, if you wish to close that chapter again, as you said. But I would hope that we might at least talk for a bit."

Kolyat rumbled something unpleasant but said, almost begrudgingly, "What would we talk about?"

Thane felt a purr vibrate his chest, pleased with the positive response, but when he reached out across the table to lay his fingers lightly on Kolyat's arm, his son flinched away. The purr dwindled into a rumble of disappointment, but Thane continued on anyway. "Anything you wished. I would like to know more about you than the information your aunt would distill into letters."

Kolyat's eyes narrowed. "I feel like the only reason you're doing this is because of your... condition."

Thane understood his suspicion, even as it hurt a bit. "I will not deny that thoughts of my mortality may have given me the... courage necessary to reconnect with you. If that offends you, I hope you will overlook it."

"Courage?" Kolyat repeated, a sardonic smirk tugging at his lips. "You aren't going to be ashamed to talk to me while I'm behind bars?" At Thane's raised eyeridge, he continued. "I'm under no illusions. I'm not a child. I shot two men. I can't just walk away from here."

"I would never be ashamed to speak to my son." And Thane felt a dull ache of remorse—Kolyat being punished for this had certainly cross his mind, but the fact that his son was already resigned to his fate made Thane trill with regret.

"Are you... are you staying on the Citadel then?" Kolyat's face was a study in practiced indifference.

"I... no." Thane felt his frill darken at the disappointment and tired acceptance in his son's eyes. "I know this sounds bad. But I..." Thane tapped his middle fingers on the table, metal drumming hollowly. "I have a job. That human woman I was with, her name is Shepard."

His mouth twisted, and Thane knew he was preparing to say something biting, but he stopped himself. "Wait." Kolyat said incredulously, putting both feet on the ground. "Shepard? I thought she looked... but I..."

Thane inclined his head. "I am working for her. She graciously devoted time and resources for my visit here."

"Oh, how magnanimous of her." Kolyat sneered. The admiration was apparently gone as soon as it had arrived.

Thane let loose a warning hiss. "Indeed it is, regardless of your sarcasm. Our mission is of the utmost importance."

"Yeah, they  _all_  were." Kolyat was not cowed by any tone Thane's voice may have carried.

Thane felt the situation degrading, and mentally retreated. Shepard could be defended another day. "This is not to say that I will be gone for months at a time. We dock at the Citadel at least once a week. I will visit you every time we do so."

"Hmm. We'll see about that." Kolyat's voice clearly suggested that he didn't believe him.

He slid his hand across the table, but this time Kolyat did not evade his touch. "I will also send messages to you, if you do not mind."

Yet now Kolyat was silent, a frown settling again on his features, eyes going distant as memories shadowed his countenance. "I still don't understand why..." He shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe I never will."

"Ask me, Kolyat, and I will do my best to answer."

"No." He shook his head again, looking down and away. "Not today."

"Perhaps later, then?"

"Yes. Maybe. I don't know."

And with that it appeared that Kolyat was done talking. He withdrew from Thane's touch again, folding his arms over his chest and staring at the ground. Thane tried not to be too disappointed by this. He knew that he was asking a lot from his son—such trust would not come easily after so many years of neglect. But he could not resist adding a few more words as he stood up to leave. "I know you have trouble believing so, but I do love you. I will not abandon you here—I promise."

Kolyat said nothing and turned his face further away from his father, but not before Thane saw the shine of unshed tears.

* * *

Thane spent much of the next two days alone. He was not the type of person to talk overly about his thoughts or feelings—even though he had been more open with Shepard as of late, in this instance he wanted, needed, time to himself to figure things out before he even considered sharing anything with another person. But he did message Rayna and Lelaka, letting them know that Kolyat was safe. Rayna had given him a rare smile and made him promise that he would arrange a meal with the three of them soon. Lelaka had been somewhat more... distant. She had been happy to hear of Thane's successful intervention, of course, but her usual bright demeanor—all of the laughter and smiles that he had remembered when they were all a family on Kahje—had been replaced with something more somber and detached. He hoped that it was just because she was not too fond of him anymore. He wanted to ask if things were well, if she was happy, but after she got Kolyat's contact information from him, she said goodbye and severed the connection.

It was yet another point of regret for him. Lelaka had been close with Irikah—they were the dearest of friends in addition to being sisters; Laka and Rika, they used to call themselves—and Thane had become quite attached to his wife's younger sibling as well. Coming home to Kahje to see Irikah and Kolyat again was always what he looked forward to the most, but when Lelaka would burst into their house and throw her arms around his neck, laughing in his ear and giving him breathless updates on the family, he found himself anticipating her company nearly as much.

He had so many relationships to repair and so little time to do so. So much of his life... wasted.

But he did have some things to be grateful for.

Shepard had used her never-ending diplomatic skills to convince Captain Bailey to spare Kolyat from the courts and give him community service. It was more of a relief than Thane could put into words to know that his son would not go to prison. With luck, Kolyat might find that C-Sec suited him. Thane indulged in a brief fantasy where he would attend Kolyat's graduation from the C-Sec Academy. It was a lot to hope for, but while serving under Shepard, one got taught a lot about allowing oneself to feel hope.

He had much to thank Shepard for. It was one thing to share tea with a person, to engage in casual conversations; it was another thing entirely to divert an entire mission for the sake of one man's personal problems. He did not know what he would have done if she forbade him from going—she had been well within her rights, as his employer, to order him to stay aboard the ship for upcoming missions. He would have had no other option except to sever the contract with her, something he had not done... ever.

But he had not needed to fear. Shepard had allowed more than just for him to go to the Citadel, she had accompanied him, and Thane, for his part, could not have imagined succeeding without her by his side.

It was strange. When he first met her, he hadn't even really liked her. She seemed too brash, too eager to kill. She had her strange, human mannerisms. Even her appearance, her eyes, her hair, had been off-putting. But, somehow along the way, he had begun to revise his opinion of her. The more he learned of her, the more he understood that she always took life as a last resort, that she worked tirelessly for peaceful solutions, and even though most situations ended otherwise, she never became discouraged or gave up. The more he interacted with her, the more he appreciated her human quirks and was able to interpret her strange expressions and gestures. The more he looked at her, the more he got used to her bright, arresting eyes, her strange, fiery hair.

And now, he...

He supposed that he must admit to himself that he thought of the Commander as a friend.

He was almost disappointed with himself. One was not supposed to make friends with an employer—surely, he had become close to some of his hanar employers over the years, close enough that they told him their Soul Names, but it was never a two-way street. And, he flattered himself to think that there might be a possibility that she considered him a friend as well.

Why else would she drop everything to help him? Yes, of course, one could rationalize it away and say that she needed him focused on the mission, and that was certainly true. But if that were the case, she could have easily sent someone else from the crew with him while she busied herself with far more important tasks. No, her personal attention, her eagerness to save Kolyat from prison, went far beyond the pragmatic actions of a Commander.

'We'll fix this,' she had said.  _Her voice comes to me low over the radio. "No sign of Kolyat yet, Thane. How are you doing down there?" Her question is simple, but her words are like cool cloths on my feverish mind_. He had pictured her, silent and efficient, on the catwalks above him, and knew that he did not have to second guess her, did not have to hope that she did her part. He trusted her with more than his life; he also trusted her with his son's.

He stirred from his position on the floor, unfolding his legs out from under him, stiff from several hours of meditation. There had been a time when he could have spent an entire day in the same pose and bounced up to his feet like he had barely spent five minutes at it. Now, he rose carefully, muscles protesting. He stretched them out, willing the limberness back into them.

It had been too long since he had tea with Shepard. Perhaps he could track her down and ask her to join him. At the very least, she was owed an extensive display of gratitude.

But to his immense surprise, just as he was leaving his door, she was already there walking in, and his usual quick reflexes did nothing to stop them from running headlong into each other. He wrapped an instant arm around her to prevent her from falling over, and perhaps taking him with her, and he... he...

She was so very warm.

Warm and... and soft. Her small hands gripped his upper arms, and he was startled by how incredibly pliant her body was, pressed so firmly against his own. She was all curves and swells, and he was amazed by how he had simply not noticed how sinuous her form was, so lithe and supple. He wanted to trace her body with his hands, run his fingers over the curve of her hips, the narrowness of her waist, the fullness of her breasts, so very unfamiliar and strange. He had held her close to himself during their sparring, but she had not seemed like this then, had not awakened his curiosity like she did now. He stopped himself from leaning forward to taste her scent, like fresh morning dew and bright spring leaves, instead stepping back from her, distantly aware that they had held each other for too long.

His mind was full of her, and he could not stop his throat from flushing. "I... um. Shepard. Hello."

They exchanged what was, perhaps, one of the more awkward conversations he'd had the misfortune to be in. But, her invitation to join her for tea cemented one thing in his mind.

They were friends. How strange, how… delightful. That the gods would give him someone like Shepard, so close to the end of all things, was both welcome and not. He now had one more person he had to come to terms with leaving behind.

He would simply have to enjoy the blessings of her company while it lasted.

* * *

 **A/N:** So, yeah, dreadfully sorry that it took so long. My beta had to help me through some sticky parts. But, it's easily the longest chapter I've posted, so... yay?

We're about halfway done with this now. So, I'm curious: do you prefer one story over the other? If so, why? What's your favorite aspect about "At the Violet Hour"? What's your favorite aspect of "For Such Loss..."? Do you have any least favorite aspects?

Please share your opinions if you have any. I'd like to know what's going on in my readers' heads!


	10. The Third Who Walks Always Beside You

Chimes.

Thane stirred on his cot; tendrils of a dream in which a pale skinned goddess came to him were reluctant to release their hold. They sat on the shores of Kahje, her gauzy robes like fog along white shores, pink seaberry mouth whispering words to him that were snatched away on the wind.

There were sounds like glass chimes.

Thane twisted on his bed, freeing an arm that had been pinned under him. The pain that rushed through the limb—a sharp tingle as blood started moving freely once again through the abused arm—woke him up completely, and he reached over to his omnitool on the table to shut it off.

What time was it?

It had to be 0500 hours—he had set his alarm to that time ages ago, but he'd never had to use it. He sat up, rotating his shoulder gingerly, willing the nerves to stop buzzing. He hummed to clear his throat; it felt dry and scratchy. He glared at the half-empty bottle of  _tekana_  on the table. It always seemed like a good idea before he started drinking. It was Shepard's idea anyway. Her and her  _whiskey_. He could still taste it in his mouth, like fire and ashes and hot sand.  _Disgusting_.

Tea. He needed tea.

He shrugged on his vest, zipping it half-way up, stared at his jacket for a moment and decided it was too much effort to put it on. He'd just have to brave the arctic elements out in the mess hall.

He was extra daring and went barefoot too, although he immediately regretted that when his feet encountered the cold metal floor and a shiver ran through his body. He always felt a sort of kinship with Garrus and Grunt—they were used to hot environments as well, and he noticed that they never went anywhere without suiting completely up in a vain attempt to ward off the chill. And he, of course, usually did the same except on mornings when he was feeling exceptionally stupid and lazy.

The mess, thank the Goddess, was empty—it was still too early for most members to be up—and he made his tea quickly, retreating back into the warmth of his room without being stopped by anyone.

He settled himself at the table, cradling the mug of tea in his hands, feeling the heat seep into his palms, bending his head toward the cup to taste the scent of the steam. He fluttered his eyes closed and let out a thrumming sigh.

Lovely.

_She takes a decisive stride toward me, but in mid-step she's suddenly stumbling, falling against me, and then she's on top of me, her slim legs on either side of mine, and the pain in my head is distant and insignificant compared to her closeness, her warmth. My hands play along the swell of her hips..._

Thane forcefully shoved the memory out of his head, thankful that he didn't have a mouthful of tea to choke on at the moment. But that wasn't the end of the memories...

" _And you are no Elizabeth Bennet," I shoot back, inordinately pleased that we have read the same human text. "Except perhaps for your complete failure to notice..." I stop myself. It is_ not _a good idea to compare Alenko to Mr. Wickham, no, most definitely_ not _._

He groaned, running his hands over his head.

 _We are so close to each other at this point that it seems almost unnatural to_ not _touch, but I hold back, refuse to give in to my own desires; I do not want to scare her away, do not want to offend her human ideas of personal space and touch and..._

 _And then she embraces me_.

Oh sweet Goddess, could he have acted  _any_  more the fool? He could blame it on the alcohol—that would be easy—but he couldn't side step his own responsibility in the matter. There was a reason he didn't drink. He never had the tolerance for it, no matter how much Rayna had tried to build it up. Those evenings had always ended inevitably with him vomiting in an alley somewhere while Rayna cackled behind him. And, of course, before that, he'd be crooning his adoration for her, for the bartender, for all the patrons in a five click radius. He'd finally had to admit that there was no hope for him and started taking a small supplement along with him on missions—one never knew when one would have to drink in order to blend in—that would help neutralize some of the effects alcohol had for him. Rayna still liked to bring it up. It was one of her favorite topics to introduce in the most awkward and inappropriate situations possible.

So, the evening hadn't ended with him showcasing the contents of his stomach. It had nevertheless contained some embarrassing moments, to be sure. The tripping over words, the falling on the bed, the lingering touches that he was sure were entirely inappropriate by her human standards... He had acted like a  _child_  around her, Shepard, one of the only people in the galaxy that he respected, admired, even. And now she probably thought he was an idiot.

Of course, all of his anxiety could turn out to be nothing. She had, after all, been drinking right alongside him. And she had hugged him. It didn't appear that she thought him a gigantic fool. But... mornings tended to crystallize things...

Yet, even with all of these rueful thoughts running around his head, when he considered whether he would take back his evening… he found that he would not. It had been a long time since he had simply… had fun. Yes, it had been  _fun_  spending his evening with Shepard. The air between them had been light and playful, and to be able to celebrate something… well that was certainly a luxury that he had not enjoyed in far too long. In fact, the last time he had shared a bottle of  _tekana_  with someone had been…

Well… it had been with Irikah.

And with that his tentatively improving mood took a nose dive.  _"What are we celebrating again?" I ask her playfully, snatching the glass out of her hand and setting it aside. I move over her, making her lie back on the sofa, placing one hand on either side of her, trapping her below me. She stares up at me, eyes sparking with amusement even as she struggles to put on a serious face. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm celebrating the fact that my husband is going to finally be here for a few months to build that addition to my studio." I lean down to nuzzle her throat, tongue flicking out to catch the folds. "Is that all?" She gasps and squirms underneath me, spreading her legs wider so I can comfortably fit my knees between them. "Oh I have a whole list of repairs." She continues, but I feel her shudder against me. "The drainage pipes." A breathy moan. "The flagstones on the path outside." A soft whimper. "The…the…" I run my hand up the inside of her thigh. "Yes?"_

Thane shook himself out of the memory, rumbling unhappily. He had left only a week after that—an unexpected job had fallen in his lap, and it was supposed to be quick, so very quick… And it was. It had all been a distraction to get him off-world just long enough that the batarians would have time to… and he could come back only a day later to… to find…

She had been angry when he left—the first time she had been angry about him leaving since Kolyat was an infant. He said they could talk about it when he got back. It would only be a day. Just for information reconnaissance, really. The real mission would happen months from now. He promised her. Only a day. One day.

He did not deserve to have  _fun_. He growled his frustration, clenching his hands into fists, feeling his nails bite little half-moons into his palms. How _dare_  he smile and laugh when he had… there was no amount of punishment he could endure that would make up for what he had done. He certainly could not allow himself to play, to be happy. Not when he deserved to suffer.

He had ruined  _everything_. And here he was now, pretending that he could live like others, those that did not have such stains on their souls. His sweet, beautiful Irikah. His innocent Kolyat. He could not allow himself the luxury of pleasant diversions when Irikah's death sat heavy on his shoulders and Kolyat lived alone…

...But not unforgotten. Not abandoned.

Thane was driven by a sudden, almost painful need to talk to his son. Messages to Kolyat would not absolve Thane of his guilt, but it certainly might help a bit. Kolyat would see that his father could be true to his word, and perhaps that might ease  _some_  of the damage Thane had done over the years. He pulled up a blank video message, addressing it to Kolyat. Thane was anxious to communicate with him again anyway. It had been three days now since he had spoken to his son. It was as if that brief meeting had rekindled all of the feelings of loneliness and desperate desire to be surrounded by a family again as he had been on Kahje—feelings that he had suppressed for many years. Thane had allowed time for him to settle in before he called—he did not wish to irritate his son—but he supposed that now might be an all right time to send something.

Thane set his omnitool on the table, checking to ensure it was recording. "Hello Kolyat." He hummed a little, giving the camera an uneasy smile. Somehow he'd thought this might be easier. Now that he was faced with the task of recording a message, he felt… awkward. What should he say? What would his son be expecting? "I suppose you must have unpacked now, yes? I gave Lelaka your new Citadel net address. She should call you soon… if she has not already. I imagine she might be angry with you. Please do not cause her any more stress. Be gentle and contrite with her."

He tapped his fingers on the desk, wishing that his son was in front of him rather than halfway across the galaxy. "I hope that the neighborhood you are in is a good one. You did avoid the western wards like I asked, I hope? If you could not do that, then I would suggest you install additional security measures. Things can be… rough in that area. I would like to see your place. Not that I am inviting myself." He said hastily. "I just thought we might meet up sometime when I am there. I might be there next week. I can message you a couple of days before my arrival."

He shifted in his seat. "You never did ask me how I found you. I cannot claim credit for that. Rayna—recall when you saw her last; you were five—was alerted to your presence. She would like to see you again. I hope you will let her. She was always so very fond of you. And you were as well, when you were young."

Thane moved to clasp his hands before him, staring into the camera over folded fingers. "I… I suppose I should tell you briefly what I am doing? I do not know if this information interests you. Your mother would… well, she did not like to hear particulars, of course, but she did like it when I told her about different cities. So, I will tell you some small things, and if you want to know more, then you can ask me to elaborate. I do not wish to bore you." He blinked. "We have just recruited a new crew member. Her name is Kasumi. She is another human. I do not know much about her yet, but she seems pleasant enough. Shepard recruits some… interesting people. I did not think I would be working with so many varied personalities—and species—but Shepard turns help away from no quarter. Perhaps you might want to meet them? I am sure that Shepard, at least, would like to get to know you more. She is kind, Kolyat, despite what your initial impression of her might be. When all of this is over… well… things will be different then, I hope."

He hummed, trying to stay on track. "We go to settle some personal business of Kasumi's before we return to our main mission. I do not think I need to tell you to refrain from speaking about these things with other people. I am sure I can count on your discretion, little one." Thane caught himself, letting loose a low laugh. "Not little anymore. No. I apologize. I will always cherish the memory of seeing you again after so many years, even with the… circumstances. You are… so much like your mother. You carry her spirit. I hope you know that."

 _Irikah sleeps, exhausted after the difficult delivery, and I stay awake to watch the two of them. My son. He sleeps sweetly against her chest, nearly blending in—deep ocean depths on silent seas in the inky night. His little breaths, in and out, his little hands, curled near his tiny mouth. Oh, Arashu, any more happiness and I feel as though I might die; it is too much joy, too much for my heart to hold._ He cleared his throat, voice gone rough with bittersweet memories. "I hope to hear from you soon. Be safe. I love you."

He clicked the recorder off, sending the message quickly. He stared at the omnitool for a moment, almost as if he thought Kolyat might reply immediately. Thane knew that wouldn't be the case—he rather wondered if Kolyat would reply at all. But, even if his son decided he did not want to message him, Thane would continue to send little updates, small communications. It would give Kolyat something recent to have of Thane after he… well. After all of this was done.

Thane leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting over to his weapons on the wall. Even though he felt a sharp sting of regret in his chest, it was time to stop with all of the chats and the laughter and the sharing of tea and meals. He was here to do a job. That was it. It was time that he started focusing on it more than spending his free time trying to engage the Commander in conversation, despite how much he enjoyed it, despite the comfort he felt in her presence. It was not a decision he made with any sort of happiness, but he knew it was the right one to make.

He thought about the different tasks he needed to accomplish. It was unfortunate that there was simply not much for him to do aboard the ship—the crew themselves had things handled mostly, and for other, special tasks, such as Tali's expertise in engineering or Garrus' talent with the main guns... well those were handled. Thane had nothing to bring to the ship, really, than his talent for killing a wide variety of people in an array of interesting ways. So, he had to make it a special point to  _not_  simply fritter his time away while they were not occupied with preparing for a mission. Sometimes it was a bit hard to do.

But, he could perform some exercises first, then perhaps get in a bit of weapons training. He would have to clean his rifle after that, then he could spend his afternoon and evening reading the latest weapons journals. Yes. That was a good use of his time.

Shepard, he was sure, would welcome the chance to get things done without him constantly interfering.

* * *

Jacob quite obviously still did not like Thane. But Thane needed the cleaning supplies in the armory, and no human—regardless of how hard said human tried to glare—was going to keep him away from the tools he needed to clean his rifle. So he stood at one of the tables, his rifle in pieces before him, slipping the cloth over the smooth lines of the weapon, working the solvent into the crevices and down the inside of the barrel. He even went so far as to hum a little song to himself—cleaning his rifle always put him in a good mood. It was one he and Rayna had listened to as children after he had lifted a music disk from the markets (he had been amazed at his own audacity, but it was too tempting to put to use in the outside world the lessons they had learned that week), and she forgot to scold him in her eagerness to listen.  _We run to the dunes together, hiding in a small clearing with tall grasses waving languidly around us, huddling together to share earbuds while sitting in the cool sands, mouths silently moving to the words, careful not to betray our position to…_

"Can you  _please_  be quiet?"

Thane stopped in mid-note, half turning to look at Jacob. "I apologize for bothering you."

His answer was nothing more than a grunt.

A sudden surge of irritation flooded through Thane, and he turned to face the human fully. He had just about had enough of this human's poor attitude. Thane did not have to be friends with him—he didn't even want to, really—but this sort of behavior was certainly going to bleed over into their work, and Thane could not allow that. This was, honestly, one of the foremost reasons he preferred working alone—when he operated on his own he did not have to worry about sticky interpersonal relationships. "Operative Taylor. Might I speak with you?"

His response was short, clipped. "I seem to recall asking for quiet."

Thane forged ahead, undeterred by the human's surliness. "Your Commander trusts me. The other crew members trust me. You are the only one who continues to look at me with such… revulsion. I do not ask you to like what I do. But I do ask that you treat me with the same respect that I give to you."

Jacob looked up at Thane with a rather impressive frown. "I only respect those that earn it."

Thane blinked at him. "And how have I not earned it? I have fought at your side, killed for you and your Commander... I have  _bled_  for you. What more do you ask of me?"

Jacob shrugged as if he wouldn't care two credits if Thane died for Cerberus' cause. "You're a hired killer, Krios. You kill not for ideals or causes or anything that can be justified. You kill for  _money_."

Thane felt an annoyed hiss color his words, and he hoped Jacob's human ears could hear it. "Hmm. You are so quick to pass judgment on me, so quick to decide who I am based on only one fact: I am an assassin. I wish that I could see the galaxy so easily defined." He took a step forward, and Jacob tensed. Thane almost wanted to laugh at him—the man acted as though Thane would suddenly try to knife him. If Thane wanted this human dead, a hundred opportunities had already presented themselves in the short time he had been aboard the ship.

But Thane was trying to be civil, so he assumed a relaxed pose, hoping that would ease Jacob's mind. "I would submit a difference between us, Mr. Taylor. I used to kill for my employers, yes, without questioning, without stopping to  _think_. But I changed. I realized that I must decide for myself, must not allow my body to be directed without my soul's agreement. Since then I have never taken a contract that I believed did not brighten the galaxy. But you... you are a soldier. Dare you question your orders? Dare you contradict your superiors? You follow Cerberus, an organization that is hardly without guilt, and you follow it blindly. The difference I would submit, Taylor, is that I fight now with uncompromising ideals, whilst you  _do not_."

And Thane fully expected a sound rejoinder from his human antagonist, but Jacob simply stared at him a long moment before turning back to his table, returning to his work. Thane blinked at the stiff line of Jacob's back, wondering exactly what his little monologue had accomplished. Did Taylor truly think on Thane's words? Or was the human simply so angry at the moment that he did not trust himself to speak?

Thane let out an apathetic rumble, deciding that he did not care either way. He had said his piece, and honestly, Thane wasn't of the mind to change everyone's perception of his profession. People would have their opinions, regardless of whether Thane agreed with them, and there was really not much he could do about it. Either Taylor would change his mind or he wouldn't. It was in the hands of the gods now. He only hoped that this would change things enough that Taylor would cease glaring at him every time Thane crossed the room.

Thane began fitting the pieces of his rifle back together, feeling a great sense of satisfaction every time a component clicked smoothly and cleanly home. He remembered the exercises during his training...  _Screw on the barrel, fit the scope in, click and click, grip the magazine, slam it in, pull back the slide action, load one into the chamber. I lift the blindfold from my eyes. "Fastest yet, Thane." She smiles at me. "You might just beat me one of these days."_ They had slept with their weapons once they turned ten. Some preferred blades, some preferred the garrote, some preferred the handgun... Thane chose the rifle. To be able to watch the world through the scope, to observe and never be a part of it until you squeezed that trigger... He was the gods' avatar and the rifle was his—sending forth death at its master's will. He ran his hands reverently over the smooth, hard lines of the weapon. So clean. So efficient.

To put the rifle back in its case was simultaneously a disappointment and a delight. He would not be using it soon—that was the disappointment, no sharp crack, no slamming recoil, no hot scent of gun powder. But he also liked seeing it safe and secure in the gray foam of the case, the pieces fitting in just so, the near silent hush of the material against the gleaming metal.

He clicked the case shut with a hum of satisfaction, putting the cleaning supplies away and turning to walk out of the room.

"Later, Krios."

The words came just as Thane was stepping over the threshold and made him stop in his tracks, half turning around to blink at the back of the human. A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. Perhaps they could come to an understanding after all. It was a pleasant—and somewhat surprising—development. "Good afternoon, Taylor."

And after Thane returned his rifle to his room, his stomach felt the need to remind him that he only had tea for breakfast, so he slipped over to the mess hall to put together some sort of meal. It was just after lunch by that time, and most of the other crew members had eaten—dishes left in the sink were a testament to their previous presence. Thane sighed at the state of the sink—Gardner must not have had a chance to clean up yet. Thane did not understand the willingness with which his crew mates dirtied things around them. It was rather disrespectful. He personally suspected the main culprits were Jack and Grunt.

He could not leave the mess, just couldn't, so he began to clean the dishes himself, scraping the remainders of the food into the trash chute and scrubbing the plates and utensils clean. He could throw them in the dishwashing machine, but there were not enough to justify running the whole thing—it was such a waste of energy. Washing by hand was pleasant work anyway—the water felt cool on his hands, and it reminded him of...  _She washes, I dry. Kolyat makes little happy trills in his chair, banging his bowl on the table. She starts singing as the rain patters against the window._

"I thought Gardner was the man in charge over here?"

Thane turned to see the new recruit—Kasumi—leaning against the counter, hood covering her eyes, painted lips smiling at him. It was disconcerting to not be able to see her eyes. He could not tell exactly what she was thinking, could not anticipate when she might attack by the tell-tale flick of a glance... not that he thought she would. But to not be able to see her expression was unsettling nonetheless. "There was a mess." He explained, turning off the water and wiping his hands with a towel. "It is not prudent to leave such disorder untouched."

"Well, I have to say I like a man who can do the dishes." She laughed. "I'm Kasumi Goto; although, if gossip on this ship is anything like other ships I've stowed away on, you probably already know. And you're drell, aren't you? That must make you Thane."

"Indeed." He bowed from the waist. "I hear you are a... thief?"

"Bingo. And I hear you are an assassin." She smiled at him again. "I thought everyone on this ship was going to be all about explosions and stomping around and wearing neon target signs on their backs. So, it's nice to know that there's someone else around here who appreciates stealth."

Thane could tell she was going out of her way to be personable—or perhaps that was just her personality. It made up somewhat for not being able to see her eyes, but he still tried to catch them somehow. "Hmm. You will find working with Shepard as... challenging as I do, then."

"Will you tell me a bit about her? One can only learn so much from the vids and the... unauthorized biographies." Thane had the sense that she was winking at him. Unauthorized biographies? He remembered the markets being flooded with those shortly after her death, full of sensational titles like 'Shepard: Spectre, Hero...  _Lover_?' It had been most amusing at the time.

"She is kind." He said, uncertain how he might distill Shepard into words. "And thoughtful. She is trustworthy and loyal to those she counts as friends. She hides much of her anxiety from those around her. You will count yourself lucky if she chooses to reveal any part of it to you."

"Has she revealed it to you?" She leaned forward, smile ever present.

And Thane suddenly felt uncomfortable, as though Kasumi were reading something on his face that he was not aware of. "She trusts those who fought by her side against Saren the most. Tali'Zorah, Garrus, Joker. Have you met them?"

She seemed to sense that he was changing the subject, and her grin became even wider. "I have indeed. They're quite nice. Everyone on this ship seems nice. Even Jack, although she's hardly the type to admit it, is she?"

Thane nodded. "Jack is a guarded individual. There is certainly more to her than simple rage and destruction, no matter how much she tries to simplify herself."

"Yes! Exactly." She hopped up on the counter, swinging her legs to his side. "I think we're going to get along famously, Sere Krios."

Thane gave her a small smile. He had a feeling that there was more to this thief than mere kleptomania and character study. He opened his mouth to reply to her when Gardner suddenly stormed in. "Off the counter! People  _eat_  there! Get out of the kitchen, both of you!"

Thane and Kasumi fled before his waving hands, even as Thane looked longingly at the cupboards—he hadn't had a chance to get something to eat. He was about to protest on behalf of his hungry belly, but a crowd of people flooding into the mess made him stop.

Garrus, Grunt, Mordin, Joker, and Jacob jostled in, each looking incredibly excited about something. "I've never  _ever_  seen her in a getup like this—and I've known her the longest." Joker drawled, shuffling next to Garrus.

"I didn't think Kasumi would be successful, honestly." Garrus said, scratching at the side of his face.

Thane shot a look at the woman by his side, and she elbowed him, grinning. "Just wait. Just stick around and wait, Thane. I guarantee it'll be worth it."

Mordin folded his arms, attempting to look bored with the situation. "Told her to avoid the heels."

" _Why_  would you do that?" Jacob shot the salarian a glare. "That would ruin  _everything_."

"I can't see why you're all worked up over this." Grunt scowled. "It's just the..."

"Commander!" Joker said, holding out his arms. "I thought I'd never see the day!"

"Yeah, laugh it up." Shepard stood uneasily in the mess hall, seemingly searching for Kasumi and then frowning when her eyes landed on the small thief. "This is the first and last time you'll ever see something like this, so enjoy it."

Shepard was... Thane blinked. Any embarrassment he might have felt at seeing her again after last night was washed away by the strangely arresting sight before him. She was not wearing her uniform. Or armor. It was some sort of black dress, form fitting and sleek, hitting her about mid thigh. A silver torque adorned her neck, and black heels finished the look, making her long legs appear even longer.

Her scars. They went down her legs too.

Thane couldn't stop the question of whether they went  _all_  over from floating through his mind. He tore his eyes away from her legs to look at her arms, strong and supple, seeing the rosy little frescoes there as well, wanting to trace the patterns all up and down her body... And then he couldn't stop himself from gazing at her throat, silver torque catching the light. The dress dipped low, apparently to accentuate her breasts, although that was not what he was interested in. Her neck, so pale, so slender... the pink scars made delicate little patterns there too.

Thane shook his head, letting loose a frustrated hum that no one seemed to hear. Those were entirely inappropriate thoughts to be having about his Commander. It was curiosity, nothing more, he was simply intrigued by the peculiarities of her human body, so similar to his own yet so very different... but he doubted his desire for seeing where those scars went would be appreciated by her. Yet he longed to... his fingers itched to follow something, anything. He contented himself with tracing imaginary designs in the counter instead.

Garrus was saying something that he thought was witty. Thane wasn't listening. His fingers dipped and swirled, a spiral there, lines here, outline of the setting sun, a call to Amonkira, drift lower, start the sunburst of Arashu, flow down into the ocean's pull of Kalahira...

"And you wonder why I don't wear this sort of stuff. Keep it up, and I'll change the regulation uniform to include a pair of Miranda's heels. For  _all_  of you."

Thane's eyes were pulled up by her voice. Her kelp gaze locked with his own, and she flushed just as he felt his frill darken. Her scars... Goddess, they were lovely. Why did she hide them? She should showcase them, let the galaxy see that all humans weren't so dreadfully plain. She was as captivating as the most desirable drell, with such delicate stripes, such exquisite coral filigree on luminous skin...

And her awkwardness as she stood there, taking the playful jokes of her crew with a smile to hide it all, made him ache. It was obvious to him that she was self-conscious; she did not share his opinion of her own beauty. He hummed the beginning of a compliment, but it died away. The atmosphere was light, despite her underlying unease, and his words would only serve to draw attention to her discomfort. He would tell her later, a quiet moment in the night, when he could lean close to touch that pink skin and tell her that she should never be ashamed of such elegant markings.

"Well, Kasumi, I see now why you wanted me to meet you here. Have I put myself sufficiently on display? Can I go parade around in front of strangers now?" She slid her eyes over to the thief, giving a little exasperated sigh.

"Oh you exhibitionist." Kasumi grinned, stepping lightly over. "If you've had enough, let's get going. Hock's party won't wait until we get there to start."

Shepard snorted, stalking over to the elevator. "Yeah, let's get this over with."

Thane allowed his eyes to follow Shepard as she walked out. He wished she would take off the heels.

* * *

Thane sat at his desk with a stack of datapads on his right, trying hard not to think about Shepard undercover in a room full of enemies. At least she had a pistol. But a pistol without armor would still leave her severely disadvantaged. He wished he could have gone along—he was used to slipping through situations like that, and Shepard obviously wasn't. As much as Thane liked her, subtlety was just not her strong point. She was quite good at talking herself out of situations, at defusing explosive tempers, but that was after things had reached that point. She never seemed to be able to prevent that situation from ever occurring in the first place. And she just... did not seem to have the haughty grace that socialites and other self-important people had—her grounded character was welcome to be sure, but it would not be an advantage around those people. He would have to trust in Kasumi, he supposed, to make up for his absence. As long as they made it through the first half of the mission, Thane saw no reason they would not succeed... as long as they made it through the first half of the mission.

He flicked idly through the nearest datapad in an attempt to distract himself. It was espousing the benefits of using a particular brand of rifle over another—Thane could not care less. It was one thing that he had in common with Zaeed—they found a weapon they liked and they stuck with it. With proper field and bench maintenance, a rifle could last a very long time. Thane's own Viper was testament to that. He had drifted away from the journals precisely because they had started to become glorified advertisements, and it seemed that the last few months in which he had not kept up with them hadn't changed that. There was never anything new, never anything interesting. Just the same boring recommendation of one rifle over another, and Thane, for his part, knew of no argument that would make him give up his trusted weapon. Mods, yes, but never replacing the rifle altogether.

He placed the datapad on the bottom of the stack, taking the one off the top and flicking it on, hoping that it would hold something more interesting. But he was spared the disappointment of yet another dull journal by his omnitool shimmering to life, the pale silver light glowing on his arm.

It was Kolyat.

Kolyat had replied to his message. Thane immediately brought it up, filled with anticipation and dread at the same time—it had been less than a day, only a half a day really, and here it was, a message, but... Kolyat had not been kind when Thane saw him last (not that Thane blamed him). His son could be taking the opportunity to yell at him again, drag out all of Thane's shame and tack it up for them both to see, a never ending cycle of guilt and regret. Thane would deserve it, of course. Or... or Kolyat could... maybe it would be a cordial message...

There was no option but to play it right away.

The video flickered on, and Thane couldn't help but smile as his son's face filled the viewer. "Hi Father." He adjusted the camera slightly, the image wobbling a bit before he sat back in his chair. "I have to say I wasn't expecting a message so soon. It was a... nice surprise."

He gestured back behind him, leaning back a bit to get out of the video. "Yeah, so, here's my little studio. It's small. I didn't... I didn't use your money. I know you said I could, but it just doesn't seem... right somehow. I'll be fine on my own. I mean, I want to do it on my own. If that makes sense." He leaned back into the image. "I make just enough with the salary Bailey's giving me to afford this, food, and whatnot. It's... in the western wards. I know you said not to go there, but I didn't really have a choice. I'll be fine. I know how to take care of myself.

"Aunt Laka  _did_  message me. She's coming out here in a few weeks to see me. I thought you might want me to tell you, you know, in case you want to see her too. I suppose it's been awhile since you've actually  _seen_  her. I was a bit surprised when you mentioned Rayna; it had been so long since I'd thought of her...  _she lies out in the grasses with me while Mother and Father smile and talk softly in the chairs. She picks two leaves, golden eyes catching the light. She presses them in her hand, bringing them up to her mouth to whistle through them. I laugh and beg her to show me how to do it_. I... I would like to see her, I guess. Is she still... doing what you do?"

And then Kolyat frowned, and Thane felt his heart clench in anticipation of what that might mean. "I suppose I don't mind you telling me about... but I don't want... I mean... well... I hear things. Bailey has mentioned something about the Omega-4 relay, like I was supposed to know about it or something. I had to look it up. It... Father, is there something you're not telling me? About the mission? Because none of the articles were very comforting. I know you're... sick. But that doesn't mean..." He looked away from the camera, quite for a long moment. "Anyway, yeah, a week from now should be fine to visit me. I don't know what my schedule will be like. It's always changing. Just let me know when you're coming. I'll work something out." He looked briefly back at the camera before reaching forward. "See you later." The feed shut off.

And Thane very nearly fidgeted in his chair, uncertain of exactly what he should be feeling. On one hand, Kolyat  _had_  messaged him. It was a pleasant message that promised more interaction later on, which was honestly more than Thane had hoped. But he hadn't... thought about the probable repercussions of discussing his mission in full with Kolyat. It was very likely that they would not come back. Not that Thane did not have full faith in Shepard, but he accepted the possibility that he would die on the other side of that relay. To tell that to Kolyat... Thane did not want to cause any more pain than he already had. How does one tell his son that yes, I have just reconnected with you after ten years, but not only am I suffering from a mortal illness, I might also die on a suicide mission?

He really did not think there was any gentle way to say that.

So, part of him was thrilled by Kolyat's quick reply while the other part trembled with dread at the thought of disappointing his son yet again. There seemed to be nothing else he was capable of doing. He was never meant to have a child... hands this sullied with blood should never have been allowed to care for a babe.

But... that was beside the point. Regardless of whether or not he should have heeded Rayna's advice all those years ago and left Irikah alone, what was done was done, and now it was his duty to be the best father his imperfect soul would allow him to be. It was something that, even a few months ago, he did not think he would have had the chance to do.

He would not even have this opportunity if not for Shepard.

She was the reason he received this message from Kolyat tonight, the reason that Thane had been able to save his son from straying down a dark path. Whatever goodness existed in his life right now he could trace to her. He... owed her much.

He smiled a bit at the memory of meeting her for the first time. At that moment he had thought of her as death itself, and no small part of him had feared the gods' decision to place her in his path. But, as usual, their wisdom had led to something far more than he could have ever known. He felt...

...Goddess, he felt as if he were alive again.

This was, in no small part, due to the fact that he now had so much to  _live_  for. He had resigned himself to dying alone, his death being the only good thing that he had ever done for his son, but now... He did not know how he could have thought that relinquishing his body to the sea without seeing his son again was a good idea. He  _needed_  Kolyat, as much as he needed anything else in the galaxy. How could he have been ready to give up something so precious? How could he have wasted so much time, time that could have been spent with his family?

Yet Kolyat was not all that Thane lived for. Shepard, now, held a piece of his soul with her—she had done so much for him that he could give her nothing else, and if she called for his death he would gladly cross the sea for her.

She had... oh Arashu help him, Shepard had  _awakened_  him.

He no longer moved from day to day in an automatic manner, his body simply moving from one place to another, stopping to feed and care for itself when necessary, marching slowly but surely on to its death. It had started so subtly, with her questions about his religion, her curiosity about his family. He had found himself thinking on things that he hadn't considered in a long time, but more importantly, he found himself finally connecting to someone, feeling as though he wasn't entirely alone, that there was someone else who he might share memories with. Strange that this kindred spirit be housed in the flesh of a human, but he was not one to question the gods' providence.

Yet, it was almost unfair, to be awake again after all these years, and so close to the end of things. If he had met her earlier, if their paths had crossed sooner... but there was no point in wishing for things to have started differently. All he could think of now was how fortunate he was in serving at her side, to face his end with his body and soul connected once more, to cross the sea alert and clear rather than dulled and disconnected. How could he, really, ever repay her?

Noises in the mess hall indicated that the crew had started filing in for dinner, and Thane's stomach reminded him sharply that tea was simply not enough to live on. Shepard was out there—he could hear her voice—and he found himself standing to join her before he had consciously made the decision. He would brave the noise of the mess hall tonight for her.

The tables were nearly full already, and Thane took a seat near the end of one—Shepard was on the other side, too far away to speak to him, but she smiled at him all the same, and he found himself returning the gesture.

She had traded the dress for her normal casual clothes, but that did not stop the crew from good-naturedly continuing their teasing from before. Thane did not listen to them, preferring instead to drink his tea in silence and watch Shepard, pausing only now and then to take a bite of his food—some strange noodle mixture that he was sure would disagree with him later on. Only Garrus and Tali had different dishes—Thane had to share the same human food with everyone else, even though Gardener tried to make it palatable across species. It was another reason he preferred to prepare his own dishes.

So he picked at his food despite his hunger, promising himself that he'd get something else later that evening, and instead devoting his time to observing his Commander.

"So did you just flash some leg and suddenly all the safes just popped open?" Joker grinned around a mouthful of food.

"What is it humans like? The breasts, right? Like on the asari?" Garrus eyed Shepard's chest, who gave him a warning glare that promised a punch in the face if he didn't back away—which he did very quickly.

"Yeah." Joker swallowed. "Way better than your fringe or whatever." He nodded at Thane. "Hey, drell can appreciate a fine pair of tits, right?"

"Drell females do not have breasts." Thane answered, while Shepard rolled her eyes at her helmsman.

"Oh, that's too bad." Joker shrugged. "So what is it? Scales? That red shit on your neck? Stripes? Tight fitting leather pants? What gets you all hot under the collar?"

Thane did not bother answering that, taking a drink of tea instead, flicking his eyes to Shepard who looked at him briefly before hastily dropping her eyes to her plate. Joker did not seem the least bit disturbed by the lack of response. "Should have taken Miranda along with you." Joker's eyes looked far away, as if immersed in his own little day dream. "There's no chance you would have failed..."

Shepard snorted, an easy smile on her face a sharp contrast to the sneaking strategy that Thane saw formulating in her bright eyes. "Yeah, see, the only problem with that little plan, Joker, is that it was a party for sophisticates. I know you savages don't really know what I'm talking about, but people there just... aren't as moved by such base urges." Shepard shrugged, eyes wide and innocent. "They do more than grunt and scratch their balls at the dinner table."

Joker jerked his hand up from under the table, eyes wide for a moment before flashing a brazen grin. "Yup, they itch."

"Oh Keelah, human males are disgusting." Tali said, shaking her head in disappointment.

Garrus fluttered his mandibles at Joker. "Sorry, that's why the girls always go for a turian. We don't have as many primitive habits."

"Hey!" Joker gave an indignant scowl.

"Garrus, you aren't much better." Shepard said. "I'm sure you recall that time on the first Normandy, when I came out of the elevator and you were..."

"I thought I was alone!" Garrus squeaked.

"Wait, what?" Tali jerked her head around to stare at Garrus. Even Thane was interested in his response.

But Garrus just paled, his mandibles tightly folded against his jaw. "Oh yeah," Shepard continued, leaning back in her chair. "The stories I could tell. Poor Tali, you had no idea—locked away in the engine room." She closed her eyes as if remembering. "And then there were those quiet nights when Joker thought he was alone in the cockpit." The man blanched, shrinking down in his chair. "Remember that, Jeffy? Boots are much quieter than you'd think, huh?" She gave a wicked grin. "We should get Wrex to come up for a chat one of these days too, right Gar? I'm sure he'd have a lot to tell."

"You wouldn't  _dare_." Garrus hissed, fringe flattened with embarrassment.

"Oh, I don't know." Shepard gave an exaggerated shrug. "All these stories might just slip out! I mean, all I am is a pair of legs and boobs, right? How can I be responsible for keeping all of these things straight? Which ones are the secrets and which ones aren't... Gosh, I'm just not sure!"

The men began to instantly retreat, and Thane could not stop the smile from tugging up the corners of his lips. She caught his eye and laughed, and he hummed his amusement back at her; although, he doubted that she could hear it.

There was more to this scene than simple jokes, though. Thane was struck by the observation that even during this supposed downtime, when all should be relaxed, Shepard was working. Her allowance of her crew to tease her was carefully calculated, as were her retorts—designed to let them laugh as well as still maintain her dominance over them and their respect for her. She seemed to always be on the clock, as it were, and even during shore leave she usually stayed aboard unless she decided to check out the markets for upgrades for their weapons or systems. Did she  _ever_  simply relax?

Yes, actually she did. With him.

It seemed like a terribly narcissistic thought to have—that she could only let herself ease up when she was around him. But when he observed her with other crew members and then compared those interactions with the ones he shared with her... She took the time to discuss philosophy, family, religion, and a myriad of other small things that did not seem to have any other ulterior purpose than satisfying her curiosity. She could, of course, discuss such things with others when he was not around—it was a simple enough counter to his current thought. But he... well, perhaps part of him just wanted to believe that out of the crew members it was with him that she felt the most comfortable. He felt that way about her, and it was nice to think that she might echo his sentiments.

The thought back to his revelation earlier this evening—that she had awoken him and his offer to her in return was all that he had—his life. But his admiration for her was not wrapped solely in death; he could also live to ease her burdens, to make her forget even for a moment the responsibilities she carried as they shared a cup of tea. It was almost funny—just this morning he had come to the conclusion that he would leave the Commander alone and focus on work and not diversions, and now he was thinking about how he could do exactly the opposite. But it was in a different context now, and one that he was infinitely more comfortable with. Spending time with Shepard would not be simply for his own amusement, but to benefit her. And anything he could do to ease her concerns was his duty and pleasure to do.

But what  _to_  do? Late night tea was always nice, but Thane felt the need to do something more than that. He stared down into his own tea, as if he could find the answers in the stray bits of leaves at the bottom. He had read somewhere that it was actually a superstition of some humans that one could tell the future from tea leaves—too bad he did not know how to read them.

Thane looked up again. Shepard was laughing, throwing her head back, white teeth flashing, pale throat exposed, delicate tendrils of scars disappearing into the collar of her shirt. A change in scenery would be necessary. She could not look around her and be reminded of work. So, aboard the Normandy was not an option. Shore leave, then, seemed to be the solution, but what to do  _during_  shore leave?

He found himself smiling at the thought. Well, that was obvious, wasn't it? What did they do best together but share meals and drink? So the next step was to find out when they docked next, plan out where to take her, and then... ask her...

He felt his brows knit together, and he hazarded a quick glance up at Shepard—she caught his eyes and smiled at him while she talked to Garrus. He mirrored her expression automatically—she had the strange ability of pulling smiles out of him regardless of his current mood, surroundings, or occupation. And currently he was thinking with great trepidation on the prospect of asking Shepard to dinner and being turned down.

It was a silly anxiety to have. It would be no great matter if she refused him. He had asked others to dinner before—friends like Rayna or family like Lelaka—had they had been busy or something and they had to regretfully tell him no. It would be the same if she told him such.

It certainly didn't feel the same, though.

Ah, but it was just because their friendship was so new. Friendships were always tricky to navigate in the beginning—should one do this or that, would this offend, and so on. It was no different with this.

Shepard leaned close to Garrus and Tali, murmuring something Thane couldn't catch, but the three burst out into laughter. Thane stood silently, handing his plate and cup to Gardner who stood at the sink rinsing off other dishes, being sure to thank the man. He slipped away from the mess hall, retreating back into his room. Grabbing a datapad, he connected it to the ship's network and began flipping through the next week's itinerary.

Nos Astra? That would be lovely.

* * *

 **A/N:**  And here's another long one! My beta says the chapters are longer because Thane's an 'introspective attention whore', and I have to agree! :D

Thanks for all of your lovely responses to my question last time. They were really fun/interesting to read! And thanks, also, to all of my 'faceless' readers. I appreciate each and every one of you.

To answer a question: I  _might_  make a sequel to these stories after ME3 comes out. Right now, though, I'm more interested in a prequel... I'm working, in between ATVH chapters, on a story that deals with Thane as a child and will eventually explore his romance with Irikah. I'll work on that in earnest after this story is finished.


	11. Then a Damp Gust Bringing Rain

_We sit together like old friends. I slide my arm along the back of her sofa, watch her eyes as they travel up and down my form, and wonder what she sees. Is there anything about me that she finds aesthetically pleasing? Do her eyes search my body because she finds my differences appealing or because I am merely the other, a curiosity? My heart pounds out a staccato beat that I feel she must hear, and a distant part of me curses the flustered heat that rises along my throat. "Would you dine with me?" I ask._

And she had said yes.

All of his anxiety had been for nothing—as often happened with anxiety. He had feared the awkwardness that might happen if she had declined him. It would have been difficult for him to conceal his disappointment, and she might have picked up on it, turning an already painful situation into something nearly unbearable. And there had been a moment when he thought that she might decline—she sat so still and quiet, and he found himself pouring out words for her, wishing that she could hear the humming song that lined the edges of his speech. When she had finally smiled on him, those kelp eyes so very bright, and offered sweet acquiescence, he had not been able to suppress his smile and fled her presence before she might have the opportunity to change her mind.

And now, now that he had her agreement secure and safe in his heart and he was away from her arresting gaze, he found himself… slightly disconcerted.

He had what he wanted. He would be able to pay Shepard back in some small way—he had so little to offer her before the end—and while he was serving her needs, he would also, in a roundabout way, be serving his own. For there was no denying that he, too, wished to spend an evening with her, with a friend, where work was not a topic of conversation and food and drink was offered in plenty, and there could be smiles and laughter and shared moments of comfortable silence.

But there was something… off about the whole thing. The look she had given him was one that he hadn't seen on her face before—it was an expression that he was not entirely familiar with.  _A pink tongue darts out to wet parted lips. Eyes are dark, deep, filled with secret swimming thoughts. Her pulse jumps underneath the pale skin of her throat, and I have to suppress the sudden wild desire to feel it quiver under my fingers, my mouth…_

Her scent had been haunting, salty and hot, like a still day before a tempest. He had been embarrassed by his sudden desire to touch her, so very intimately, especially since she was his friend and commander. And she was… she was confusing, with her heavy gaze and coral lips. Thane felt almost reactionary, as if he wouldn't have dared to respond to her in such a way if she had not looked at him like that—whatever that look meant. He could not explain it, and it was frustrating to no end. Even now he felt himself shiver when he thought of her delicate scars, her bright eyes…

The lift opened to the crew deck, and Thane stepped off automatically, deep in his thoughts, threading his way past the knot of crew members that had gathered to wait in front of the lift for its arrival. A body stood in his way; he moved to the side only to be blocked by it again. Letting loose a rumble of annoyance, he raised his gaze to glare at whomever dared to impede his progress when he found himself staring in the wide, unblinking eyes of Mordin.

Thane took an automatic step back, unwilling to submit himself to an examination. "Ah… Professor…"

But Mordin closed the distance between them with a quick step, his head cocked and eyes blinking like a curious bird. "Seem distracted, Thane. Was going to ask you to come to the lab tomorrow, but quickened pulse, slightly inflated throat…" Mordin brought up his omnitool, and Thane felt his body tingle as the salarian's interface connected with his own omnitool's network. He waved an irritated hand—Thane hated that feeling; it was intrusive, invasive.

He tugged at his vest, as if he could stop the prickling from the scan by plucking it off of him. "I am fine, Doctor. I was merely... remembering."

The look Mordin gave him clearly suggested that he didn't believe Thane, and he knew that a more extensive explanation would just sound like an elaborate excuse. "Hmm. Readings suggest..." Quick eyes flicked to the elevator, and Thane had the sense that the doctor was piecing together something awful and intimate.

"Tomorrow?" Thane blurted out, hoping to snatch Mordin's eyes back to him. "I can come. What do you wish to do?"

"Must be feeling bad." Mordin favored him with a small smirk—maddening, really. "Never this easy to get you to agree. Come at 0800 hours. Will perform lung biopsy. And... perhaps discuss other things?"

"Yes, yes, whatever you wish." Anything to get Mordin to stop  _thinking_. He stepped lightly around the doctor, desperate for the quiet solitude of his room, not bothering to excuse himself. As soon as the door closed behind him, he tore off his jacket, hanging it on the back of his chair, and pulled the SMG off of the wall. His hands moved automatically, sliding out the heat sink, checking the chamber to ensure it was empty, squeezing the trigger experimentally a few times to hear the satisfying click. He sat the gun on the table and swiveled around in the chair to pull his chest out from under the bed to retrieve his tools and got quickly to work on recalibrating the sight on the SMG.

Working on the gun was a pleasant distraction. It kept his hands busy—it was delicate work, after all. But it only prevented his mind from straying for a few, brief moments, his hands taking over as his thoughts occupied themselves with far more complicated concerns.

He… well. He supposed that he must admit to himself that he had a bit of a… Well, he  _admired_  Shepard a great deal. She was clever, persuasive, kind, a brilliant leader, an inspiration to him and everyone else around her. And the differences in their species, which before he thought a barrier, now only served to endear her to him. Her slight frame, small bright eyes, strange curves and swells, curious hair— _She kneels before me on the cold tile of the washroom floor, and_ _I thread my fingers through her fiery tresses, shocked momentarily by how soft it is, how sensual it feels between my fingers, and I wish I dared leave them in, play with individual strands, plait them together like I see others of her race do, and then let it down again to see it cascade around her slender throat, a cataract of liquid garnet_ —were now as comfortable to him as any feature of his own species, and he knew that his acceptance of her differences had everything to do with how captivating he found her sharp mind.

His infatuation with her—because he must call it that—was something that he hoped would be short-lived. It was almost funny, if he chose to think about it that way, for he had not felt this type of attachment to someone in so long that it was almost overwhelming, heady in its intensity. He knew Rayna would laugh at him—and he deserved it. What an absurdity—to find oneself smitten with a human. He hoped that one day, if the gods saw fit to grant him a few more months than he thought he might have, he could share this temporary captivation with Shepard herself, and they could both laugh at how ridiculous it had been.

For it must be temporary. Shepard herself would never entertain the thought… no surely, she wouldn't. He was so very different from her, and she had her own heart taken by that Kaidan. Thane's affection had reached its crest now, a brief flash of intense fondness, and it would settle down into a comfortable and steady attachment. He would, always, until the end, count her as the most amiable woman of his acquaintance. But it would be no more than that.

He supposed he must owe this new influx of emotion to Shepard as well. He smiled at the thought. He would not have even been capable of the feeling before she had awoken him. It was yet another reason for the intensity of the sentiment—after not feeling  _anything_  for so long, he felt as if _everything_  was new, exciting, almost painful in its novelty.

It reminded him of…

But no. It wasn't like that at all. Things had been different with Irikah. Irikah had eventually returned those feelings, and Thane's love for her had never waned, never eased. Shepard would  _not_  see Thane in the same light—she couldn't—and he was absolutely sure that all of this would pass soon enough.

He should actually confess this predicament to Rayna. She would laugh at him for at least an hour, tease him, make him feel the absolute irrationality of ever forming such an attachment. Perhaps he would call her later.

But until then… until this was over…

Well, he would take Shepard out to dinner. Certainly. But he felt the danger of her closeness more than ever now. She could not know, not now, what he felt, what he thought. He would have to be careful with his words and actions, lest they betray him. She disarmed him so very easily that it would be a special challenge to keep his composure around her. But he would succeed. She would not know anything unless he chose to reveal it to her after it was through.

He raised the gun, looking down through the sights, squeezing the trigger. It seemed fine. He would have to take it down to the range to test it out for certain. Perhaps he could get someone to practice with him—it was always more entertaining that way. Garrus might agree… Thane would ask him in the morning.

And now that his task was complete his stomach complained sharply, reminding him that not only did he skip breakfast and lunch that day but also he barely ate two bites of his dinner. Thane was surprised he was actually still able to function—being a biotic usually meant that, even though he had not tapped into any of that power today, skipping so many meals would result in a wide variety of unpleasantness. Still, he was not one to tease fate. He put his tools away, setting the gun gently back on the shelf, making a mental promise to his stomach that relief was coming shortly.

The mess was empty. It was a perfect time to secure a meal. He brought out his usual fruit and nuts and devoured them quickly, barely tasting them as he finished off an entire package of each. Still hungry, he decided to scatter the the sands a bit by adding something he heard one of the crew call 'yogurt' to his fare. It had a strange consistency, but it smelled fruity and an experimental taste revealed that it had a pleasant sweetness and tangy bite.

He leaned against the counter, applying himself to the yogurt with gusto when he heard a noise behind him. Half turning, he was pleasantly surprised to see that Shepard had come down from her cabin. He had not expected to see her again so soon—the creeping heat up his neck and low croon would have betrayed him to another drell. She gave him a strange little smile, opening the cupboard to pull down her usual grain. "I'm not stalking you, I swear. But I remembered something I wanted to ask you after you left. I thought I'd just ask you in the morning, but then I got the midnight munchies—sometimes I think I should just put a fridge in my quarters—and here you are!"

"Our schedules do seem to coincide." Thane slid over to allow her room to lean next to him. Her dark tank top was loose and dipped down between her shoulder blades—he found himself admiring the smooth lines of her back before tearing his eyes away to pay more attention to his yogurt.

"Is it the same way with you?" She said, crunching her grain. "Are you hungry all the time?"

"I do require more calories than most of my species, yes. But I will often take little supplements to assist with that—one cannot always stop and feed, after all. It stops me from falling over, but it does not take away the craving for food."

"Speaking of which, that's new." She nodded her head at his meal. "Branching out?"

"Yes, actually." He hummed at her, strangely pleased that she had noticed he had changed his routine. "I saw one of the engineers eating this. It is delicious. Have you had any?"

"Yogurt? Yeah. Looks like strawberry? That's my favorite."

"What is it, exactly?" He stirred it around a bit. "I can tell there is fruit, but I am not sure what makes it have this consistency."

"It's milk. Dairy." She said with a casual shrug. "We use bacteria to ferment the milk, and then you get yogurt."

And suddenly Thane was  _not_  hungry anymore.

He eyed the yogurt as if it had suddenly turned into a bowlful of her worm noodles. "Milk? As in lactation? Do you… use… I mean, whose…" Thane could not voice it; it was far too disgusting. Humans were mammals after all, and mammals produced milk, and there was the possibility that… Oh Goddess. His mind was suddenly flooded with the thought of thousands of humans milking themselves to make a deceptively delicious food.

"Not who, although some people  _are_  into that." Shepard laughed as Thane felt his stomach churn rebelliously. "What. A cow–we use cow's milk."

But learning that it was from a different mammal was hardly consoling. Secretions were secretions, after all. "That… is revolting. Why? Why do you do this?"

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Because it's delicious? Drell don't drink milk?"

That was the problem—the yogurt  _was_  delicious. Terribly delicious. It had no right to be that delicious and be made out of mammalian secretions. "There are some small mammals native to our planet—most of them are extinct, unfortunately—but we never…  _milked_  them. That is… repulsive."

"Well, more for me." She snatched the yogurt out of his hands and polished it off. With a mixture of nausea and fascination, he watched her lick the spoon. "Tasty!" She darted out her tongue to lick her lips, seemingly taking a special satisfaction in hearing him hiss his disapproval.

Thane tore his eyes away from her display, deciding instead to fetch a glass of water. He could feel the yogurt coating his mouth like a film. Draining the glass helped a little, but not nearly enough. Deciding to just forge ahead, he turned around to face her, leaning back against the counter. "Well. I assume that your question had nothing to do with how many calories I must consume as a biotic. What did you need from me, Shepard?"

"Oh." She sat the bowl down, focusing on him sharply. "Right. So… do you know any particulars about the mission I went on today?"

"Other than the spectacle here in the mess hall?" He gave her a small smile, rewarded by her skin flushing a light pink. "No, not really. I know that it was personal to Ms. Goto, and I know that it involved Donovan Hock. I also heard that you destroyed his gunship and decimated his personal guard—well done."

She grinned at him. "Yeah, I liked that part too. But while that was all well and good, there was… something else. I'm coming to you about it because, out of everyone here, I think you'd have the most experience with it. I wish, actually, that I had brought you along… I could have used your advice."

Thane straightened up from his languid slouch against the counter, fixing Shepard with a curious gaze. "Oh? I am happy to provide whatever counsel that I can."

Shepard pursed her lips, folding her arms under her breasts. "What made the mission personal for Kasumi was that Hock had... obtained her partner's gray box. Do you know what that is?"

Thane felt he knew where she was taking this. "Yes. They hold a person's memories... I take it her partner was... special to her?"

"Yeah." Shepard looked down at her arms, frowning a bit. "He had wanted Kasumi to destroy the box. Apparently it had some... sensitive information on it that would severely damage the Alliance's standing with the Council. Kasumi, understandably, wanted to keep it. It was all she had left of him, you know?"

"It is slightly different with my species, Shepard." Thane pushed away from the counter to fetch the kettle, filling it with water. Tea would wash the lingering milk out of his mouth. "Those memories are not hers. She loses none of herself if she were to give them up." He flipped off the tap, setting the kettle on the stove.

"But it's more complicated than that." Shepard fixed her bright little eyes on him. "You say they're not her memories, but her memories  _will_  fade over time. They will disappear. Details will become fuzzier until you don't remember really if eyes were blue or green or perhaps they were brown? You link memories to identity, so in the face of that, isn't keeping the gray box a good thing? To preserve identity?"

"How much have you changed due to time alone, Shepard?" He took a step toward her. "I think you, also, over simplify. Do you think that because something happens in your youth it will not still define you as an adult even though elements of those memories fade? Or do you make the argument that character is transitory? That it changes as your memories become less sharp? I would argue that sharpness of a memory does not define who lives in your mind and heart. It does not matter if someone's eyes were blue or green. The impression, the lesson that he or she leaves behind does."

Her eyebrows knitted together. "How would you know? Aren't your memories always the same?"

He trilled softly, fixing his eyes on her. "My ability to recall small details does not affect my impression of a person. I could close my eyes and describe every centimeter of your armor, down to the last scratch, the smallest dent. But does that knowledge of something so external help me define who _you_  are?"

But Shepard frowned at him, and he wondered what he had done to inspire such an expression. "And what if they entirely disappear? The memories? The impressions, the details, all gone. Doesn't that change who you are? Wouldn't you give up anything and everything to get it back? Would you even know that you had lost them in the first place?"

Thane cocked his head at her, a low hum vibrating his chest. He had the sense that they were no longer talking about Kasumi, but he was not quite sure how to respond to her unspoken request. He was not even sure what that request might be.

But she spared him any awkward questioning by shaking her head, giving him a tense little smile. "Regardless of our little debate here, I told her she could keep it. I didn't feel right destroying something that obviously meant so much to her."

Thane felt a bit better to be back on steadier ground, but a rumbling disappointment at her retreat still colored his words. "What of the Alliance? I was under the impression that you were still loyal to them."

"I am." The kettle began to whistle, and Shepard moved past him to take if off the heat. "Destroying the gray box, of course, is the only way to be absolutely certain that the information will never get out. But at the time, I felt... there are some things more important than politics. Favor comes and goes." Thane retrieved the mugs from the cupboard and dropped a tea bag in each. "Of course," she continued. "Now that the decision isn't right in front of me I have time to reconsider, to think about how I would have done things differently." Her hand tightened a bit on the handle of the kettle, knuckles whitening. "She flipped it right on, Thane. Didn't say a word the entire trip home. Just sat there. Smiling. I felt like... like I had given her the worst kind of addiction."

Her voice grew a bit quieter, and Thane found himself stepping closer to her to hear. "I remembered what you said about getting lost in memories. And I wondered if I had made a mistake."

Thane reached out without thinking, covering her hand with his, pulling it gently off the kettle. "You did what you thought would be best for her."

She looked down at their hands, then cast her kelp eyes up to him. He suddenly felt far too close to her—her warmth was... distracting. "Is it, though?"

Thane took back his hand, filling up their mugs with hot water. "Sometimes we do not know right away. Sometimes we just have to see. I can talk to her. I do not know her very well—it will be an awkward subject to broach—but I can offer my advice and see if she will take it."

"What advice will you give her?" She took the mug and cradled it in slender hands.

"The same that any drell would offer—memories are like... hmm. The cultural reference I am about to make will probably make little sense to you." At her curious smile and quick little eyes, he elaborated. "I was going to say that memories are like the sweet songs of Dalya—she calls you out into the sands with her haunting melodies, and you give yourself into the pleasure, not knowing that all the while you are wasting away in the desert sun. It is one thing to let yourself listen to a few notes and move on; it is another to give yourself over entirely."

"Dalya." Her pronunciation was halting and endearing. "Is she another goddess?"

"No. She has her own story, though. I can tell you one day, if you like."

Her smile was small, secretive. "I want us to sit down one day and just share our stories. But aren't there two ways to look at Dalya, though? On one hand, she's terrible, luring people to their deaths. But on the other hand, she's like Keats'  _La Belle Dame sans Merci—_ giving you the ultimate pleasure before you die. Do you think she regrets what she does? And which is better? A life of mediocrity or a brief, shining existence engaged in the utmost happiness?"

Thane trilled his delight. He could talk to Shepard for hours on end, and she would never bore him. "I cannot say I have read that poem, although I have heard of your Keats. And I think the answer would have to depend on the purpose of that life—one can lead a happy life in the service of others, however short it might be. This is a life with purpose. The life that is lived solely with Dalya and your beautiful, pitiless lady is one bereft of purpose. And without purpose, without direction, can there be any true pleasure? Or is it a form of disguised despair? I would argue that the former life is better."

"I think I'd have to agree." She grinned at him and straightened up. "Thanks for the tea and the offer to talk to Kasumi. Give her a few days, okay? Let's see where she goes with this and evaluate it from there."

Thane gave her a small bow. "As you wish, Commander."

She moved past him. "Gardner's going to be mad when he finds out I've taken the cup up with me." She smiled at him impishly. "See you in the morning, Thane."

"Good night, Shepard." He followed her with his eyes for as long as he could before turning back to the sink to put away the kettle, retiring himself shortly after.

* * *

Thane  _was not_  looking forward to his appointment with Mordin. He dreaded it as much as he had the Master's daily inspections—during which _something_  would be wrong, and Thane would end up feeling the effects of that particular punishment for hours afterward.

He hated lung biopsies.

They were awful. Firstly, they hurt. No matter the anesthetic that a doctor would use, jamming a sharp instrument into a lung was going to be painful. He was always sore for at least half a day.

Secondly, bad news always accompanied them. There was always that sympathetic shake of the head and a false cheer that sickened him. "Oh, they've cleared up a bit slightly" or "Well, it's not spreading as fast as we thought it might." He was  _dying_. He knew this. Why did they have to make it even worse than it already was?

So he woke up ( _without_  the alarm this time), and spent his morning in light exercise, for he knew it would be difficult to get anything like that done after the biopsy was through. Thus, when the dreaded hour finally came around, he felt relatively loose and relaxed, and even though he wished he did not have his memory and could conveniently forget that he had an appointment, he submitted to the event with minimal fuss.

Mordin glanced up as Thane walked through the door. "Ah, Thane. Take off your..."

"Jacket and vest, yes." Thane said, already unzipping the vest, draping it across a back of a chair along with his coat. He hopped up to the examination table, feeling himself shiver slightly in the cool air.

"EDI, raise the temperature in the room by 10 degrees." Thane murmured his thanks at Mordin's thoughtful request, already feeling some of the chill leave the air. "Right side first."

And so Thane lifted his arm up, reaching behind his head to grasp the wrist, exposing his side for the wicked-looking needle that Mordin wielded. His muscles twitched underneath his scales in anticipation, and after a quick swab of disinfectant, Mordin stabbed the needle in without ceremony, earning a stifled grunt from Thane.

He drew it out with agonizing slowness and set it aside to dress the wound and grab another, clean tool for the other side.

"And again."

Thane repeated his actions for his left side, and thankfully in a few moments it was done and he slid back off of the table, heading directly for his clothes to make as quick an exit as possible.

"Will run tests on the tissue samples and send you the results by tomorrow." Mordin said, placing the little bits of Thane he had ripped away into clear, tiny vials. "Also..."

Thane tugged his jacket into place, smoothing it down. "Yes?"

Mordin took a few steps toward Thane, quick eyes darting up and down. "Mission is stressful; different species react differently to stress. Seeking sexual relief is hardly uncommon, but recommend caution."

Thane jerked up his gaze to stare at Mordin with wide eyes. That was... not the direction Thane thought the conversation would go in. "I... beg your pardon?"

Mordin carried on as if what he was suggesting was not the most bizarre thing in the universe. "Am aware of your developing relationship with Shepard. Drell-human relations complex. Shepard complex as well."

Oh. Oh my.

Mordin was... Mordin was going to try to give him a sex talk. About Shepard. Him and Shepard. Thane felt the heat march up his throat, mind scrambling for any and all excuses, explanations, distractions... "I... think you are mistaken, Professor, there is no..."

Maybe Thane could distract Mordin with something shiny. Salarians were easily thrown off track. Or maybe Thane could distract Mordin with something shiny and embedded in his skull. That also tended to derail conversations.

"Am not blind." That smirk again. "At the lift. Increased heart rate. Inflated throat. Detected unusual amount of pheromones that indicated moderate levels of arousal."

A particularly creative string of drell curses tore through his head. The gods were just mocking him now, surely. "You assume that I had come from Shepard's cabin." It was the best retort he could come up with... and it sounded petulant and ridiculous even to him.

"Oh? Perhaps you had come from CIC? Perhaps Ms. Chambers center of your affections?" He took a deep breath. "Or Taylor?" Oh, so Mordin thought this was  _funny_. Yes, it was  _hilarious_.

Thane opened his mouth to say something sharp and snappish back only to shut it again, aware of how useless it would be. Mordin folded his arms loosely across his chest, radiating a comfortable sense of victory. Thane felt the irrational desire to punch the smug smile off of Mordin's face. "If done with transparent attempts at lying, will proceed to heart of the matter. Humans react to drell contact in unusual ways. Skin contact may cause mild rash, itching. Creams can alleviate discomfort. Oral contact may cause mild hallucinations."

Thane blinked. That was... actually kind of interesting. "Hallucinations?"

"Chemicals in drell saliva react interestingly with human brain function. But effects are temporary—longest recorded incident of hallucination six hours, but that was with quite a high dosage. Average is one and a half hours. Shepard's reconstructed form combined with her biotic metabolism may actually allow her to process chemicals faster—would like to study effects later on."

And Thane's interest waned when he began thinking of Mordin studying any future... encounters. "Ah."

The salarian forged ahead, enjoying himself immensely if his quick, darting movements were any indication. "Obvious differences in human female bodies—will forward you videos, diagrams, other light reading on erogenous zones and favored ways of pleasuring females. Can provide clarification later on if needed—or in some cases, a simple extranet search will elaborate. Will offer similar advice to Shepard. Now. Questions?"

Thane could only stare at Mordin in wide-eyed wonder, equally horrified and curious. Videos? Diagrams? It was honestly more than he ever wanted to know about the human body—his knowledge extended as far as the necessary points of interest, such as how easy it was to snap their necks or break their spines.

He imagined how Shepard would react to such a discussion and wished his disease would just take him then and there. Oh, it might not be that bad—perhaps she would laugh at Mordin, perhaps it would seem as ridiculous to her as it did to him... Or maybe she would find the very thought repulsive, and she would never be able to look at him again without wanting to heave. Or she would no longer be comfortable with Thane on the mission and find some excuse to relieve him of his duty... Ah, the possibilities were endlessly horrifying.

"Patient confidentiality, of course, of utmost importance. Will not share anything said." Mordin assured him as if he actually thought it would help.

Thane wished he could say that his mind was blank, but instead it was filled with premonitions of doom, wherein he would be the first drell to officially die of embarrassment when Shepard inevitably got wind of this. Also, he actually did honestly wonder about breasts—many human (and asari) females displayed them so prominently, and he understood them to be a point of pride, but he did not quite understand why. They were just fat deposits that occasionally produced milk. What was so interesting about that? He was not curious enough to actually ask, though, instead favoring his burning desire to exit the laboratory as quickly as possible. "I... do not have any questions."

Mordin waved his hands dismissively. "Very well. Will always be here in case something occurs later on. Perhaps after viewing videos?"

Thane let loose a little agonized rumble, feeling as if he couldn't be any more embarrassed at that particular moment. He was painfully reminded of his first, humiliating discussion as an adolescent—he had been yanked from daily duties, sent to his room with a text on sexuality and told to meditate on it for a week. He thought  _that_  had been embarrassing. But, unsurprisingly, having a salarian doctor lecture him on human sexuality for a partner that Thane didn't even have was even more mortifying. "Thank you for the... ah... information. Is there anything else?"

"Now? No. Will send message regarding follow up appointment. Pleasant day, Thane."

And with that Thane was clearly dismissed, the salarian going back to whatever experiment he had been running before, and Thane stood awkwardly there for a moment, still quite bewildered from the last fifteen minutes of his life, before turning around and slinking out of the lab as if he had done something terribly, terribly wrong.

He envied other species' ability to forget.

Instead this would stay with him, one of the most humiliating moments of his life, and it would probably be the last image to flutter through his mind as he drew his final breath. The gods, he was sure, would find that hilarious.

The lift ride down was a haze, and before Thane knew it he was back in his room, content to stay there the rest of the day and come to terms with everything that just happened. He pulled a random weapon off the wall and slid into his chair, methodically taking it to pieces on his table.

Everything was happening too fast.

He had just admitted last night that he found himself in the middle of a small infatuation with Shepard, and now Mordin and his unnatural skills at observation had uncovered that with embarrassing ease. Honestly, the salarian had made much more of it than necessary. It was one thing to feel an attachment to someone; it was quite another to act upon it. Thane had no intentions of acting upon it. He had, as he concluded last night, every intention of letting it pass silently and quickly into a steady, committed friendship.

But Mordin had shaken that a bit with his... advice. He had acted like there was the possibility that Shepard might actually  _agree_  to such a liaison. Perhaps he did not know of the existence of Kaidan. But it seemed that Mordin would have acquainted himself with that information—there was no keeping secrets from the doctor, apparently.

It raised the interesting possibility that Shepard might...

But no. That was simply out of the question. He would not even consider it. It simply invited unwarranted desires, and the prudent thing was to simply put it out of his...

His omnitool shimmered to life, cheerfully notifying him that Mordin had sent a message with several attachments.

Thane stared at the display for a few moments. There was really no need to open it. He had no need for the information that Mordin sent. Opening it would just create unnecessary memories—memories that would clutter his mind and in all probability intrude at inopportune moments.

But he  _was_  curious.

And there was nothing wrong, really, with being curious. It was not as if by opening the message he was committing any sort of sin. He wouldn't even really be acknowledging that he wanted that information for... certain events. It was just... curiosity.

Also, it would be rude to  _not_  open it. Mordin had obviously taken the time to compile the information. The very least Thane could do was open the message and reply with a sincere thanks and regret that he could not use the information right now but that he was certainly grateful.

Thane opened the message, feeling as if he was definitely doing the friendly, polite thing here. The message was short and to the point. " _Here is what we talked about. Enjoy. Come to me with questions._ "

There were... pamphlets. Diagrams. A video called  _How to Bring a Human Female to Orgasm – with Real Humans!_

...Interesting.

Thane forgot his embarrassment in his curiosity and decided to open up one of the pamphlets first. " _A Drell's Guide to the Human Female_ " it was called. With pictures, it claimed. The cover was of a smiling couple—the drell looking entirely too cheerful for the ridiculous publication he was in and the human gazing adoringly up at her partner, a simpering look on her face that was entirely unattractive. A quick perusal revealed a trite narrative about how "we are all the same on the inside" and he closed it quickly.

A diagram was opened to reveal a sort of... road map to human genitalia. There were lots of... folds. And hair? That was... unexpected. He  _should_ have expected it, he supposed, but it was still... strange. He wondered if it was as soft as the hair on her head... Things seemed to work relatively the same, though. Ah, and the diagram professed that. A short learning curve, it promised.

A few more pamphlets were as boring as the first one, and the other diagrams were complicated drawings of strange things like nipples. All in all it was rather... pedestrian.

And then... well, he had looked at everything else. He may as well open the video. It was not as if he would seem any less weird if he tried explaining himself with "I only read the pamphlets and studied the incredibly graphic diagrams. I did not watch the video though!" No, if this eventually came around and became a new moment of horror in his life, then he may as well have watched the video too. He pressed play.

The volume on the video was  _terrifyingly_  loud.

A series of breathy moans sounded through his room, and Thane nearly tore his omnitool off and threw it against the wall—anything to shut it off—before he got a hold of himself and lowered the volume to a bare whisper.

The girl was... being attended to by a drell—quite enthusiastically, actually. Thane cocked his head to one side, intensely curious. Ah, so  _that's_  what one was supposed to do with breasts. She seemed to really enjoy it. And it seemed as if human necks were nearly as sensitive as those on a drell... and then... oh... so human females liked that too?

He was well over ten minutes into the video before he realized exactly what he was doing.

He was watching pornography.  _Human and drell_  pornography. In his room. Alone.

Oh Goddess help him. He waved the video off, suddenly acutely aware of how  _weird_  he was really being. Shepard was his friend. Nothing more. He would never do... those things to her. It was simply out of the question. And to... watch this... well. It was more than a little strange. If he had suddenly walked in on himself he couldn't have felt more uncomfortable with the situation.

Yes, he found her quite pretty. Yes, he liked her a great deal. But those two things did not mean... what Mordin seemed to think it did.

If they were to be friends, then he would better spend his time actually being useful to her, not watching pornography in his room.

But he did not quite feel up to leaving his room—there was the possibility (however slight) that he might meet Mordin, or worse,  _Shepard_  in the halls, and he wished to avoid that very much at the moment. And, unfortunately, any seriously productive things to do lay outside of his room. So he sat in his chair, feeling awkward in his own skin, his mind conveniently going back to the video every time he didn't strictly discipline it to do otherwise. His sides ached distantly, reminding him that the day, on the whole, had been utterly disappointing. He brought up the extranet, deciding to browse the news to take his mind off of how miserable he felt at the moment.

The articles were mostly boring, bland expositions on entertainment news or various sporting events. The few decently written articles were buried under piles of ridiculous stories, and even those seemed to have an unfair slant. He hummed his distaste at the review for the latest  _Blasto_  movie, when tucked under that was a link to a story on Shepard.

He clicked it immediately, eager to find out what had been said about her. It was an interview by a Ms. Al-Jilani, and Thane watched the entirety of it, entranced by Shepard's deft maneuvering in the face of an obvious baiting by the reporter. Shepard's voice was clear, honest, strong in its convictions, her kelp eyes shining bright with intelligence. He was smiling by the end of it, feeling the thrill of her victory as surely as if he had stood at her side.

The video mentioned a previous interview, and without delay Thane began typing in a search for that, beginning with her name... But the search engine suggested something else when he typed it in—'shepherd.'

He was not an expert on how she spelled her name, to be sure. He did not even know exactly which human language she spoke—it was all translated for him into drell anyway. He was only typing in what he had memorized, but perhaps humans varied in how they spelled their names. Or maybe this was a new word entirely? Or it might be that different spellings held different connotations for the same meaning? Regardless, he was curious what this variation meant, and he looked it up. A protector, the dictionary said. A guard or guide to a person or group of people.

A protector.

Shepard was a protector in name as well as in deeds. It was... strangely beautiful. Like a...

Like a warrior angel of Arashu.

A siha. Shepard. He felt himself tremble a bit with the realization of it. It was strange. Beautiful. Perfect.

How had he not seen it? She had saved him, awoken him. And she did not concern herself only with him—she moved to protect the entire galaxy, an avatar of Arashu, avenging Her people, protecting Her children. Her wrath  _was_  fierce, but she also stood as a shield, a defender of light.

Shepard, with her scent of sea spray, her kelp eyes, pale sand skin, and blood strand hair, was not death, no. Far from it. He had been a fool to think otherwise. All she had done and all she would yet do was an example of her unwavering attention to the sanctity of life and the importance of both justice and mercy. He understood now why he had been so drawn to her, why he felt such affection and passion for her. She was the embodiment of the Goddess, and she deserved nothing less than complete devotion from him.

Yet, she was still mortal. She could still falter. She could still stumble. Sihas were not infallible.

Thus, he knew now that he would remain with her, even after this mission was through—if the gods saw fit to grant that time. He would ensure her path remained straight and true. He would help her adhere to both her ideals and the greater forms of justice and mercy that sprang from the divine. Together, they would preserve the light in the galaxy.

Few were fortunate enough to have one siha bless their lives. Arashu had given him grace beyond measure by granting him two. It was... overwhelming. He stood up from his desk in one swift movement to kneel in the center of his room, hands tracing the familiar patterns out on the floor, throat swelling to sing Her first notes. He felt Her, so warm on his skin, and he knew he was unworthy, knew he did not deserve such beneficence.

His siha. He would follow her until his end.

* * *

 **A/N:**  So, you may have noticed that I've not been as quick as I used to be in writing/posting chapters. This is due to the fact that the semester has started again, and I have a million papers to grade. Unfortunately, it'll be this way until the end of the semester, so sorry! I do try to get them out as fast as possible, but even though I'd rather write, work has to come first.

I am VERY excited about the next chapter, though, in which we will finally get to see the date from Thane's POV! I have some new scenes for you that I think are really lovely.

And, as always, thanks to my beta, who is just as busy as I am. She made the science-y bits in this chapter actually make sense! :D


	12. Your Heart Obedient to Controlling Hands

He had been nervous when he stood before the door to her cabin, shifting his weight from foot to foot after EDI asked him to wait a few moments, wondering if he had made a terrible mistake. How ridiculous was this? Asking his commanding officer to dinner—it was absurd. He never did this with any of his other employers. Her acceptance of his offer did nothing to assuage his fear—what if it all went wrong, what if he said the wrong thing, what if he made a fool out of himself… he had no idea how humans conducted themselves in casual situations. Oh, of course he had watched them, observed the leisure activities of his targets, but that was different. He had not followed their movements in order to learn from them, he had followed them in order to kill them. That was, Goddess willing,  _not_  how this evening was going to end.

But that was all he knew how to do.

Irikah had despaired over his distinct lack of knowledge in any area of recreation and had made it a mission of sorts to educate him in the art of… having fun. Surprisingly, having fun to 'normal' people didn't mean sparring in the dunes or studying anatomy or rigging elaborate, painful traps to catch a classmate unaware. It had meant going out and eating, dancing, attending concerts, just talking—and not about work, not about killing. Killing was the last thing one was supposed to talk about.  _I help her by chopping vegetables, and the silence is nice, comforting, but then it occurs to me to say, "I tried out a new weapon upgrade in the field last night. It worked really well. Very powerful. I was able to increase my distance from the target by 200 meters, and it was still a perfect shot, I…" I look up, catch her eyes. She is horrified, the spoon poised above the pot, forgotten. "Uhm. Never mind." I do not bring it up again_. He learned that there were just some things he could not share with Irikah, and how well he shot his targets in the back of the skull was one of them. He thought that Shepard might appreciate the stories a little more, but it was still not something he felt was appropriate dinner conversation.

But humans, as far as his limited knowledge extended, seemed to like eating in restaurants and dancing as much as the drell did. So, he felt fairly confident in choosing to take Shepard to dinner, but he was uncertain what they should do afterward. He had thought about it long and hard, pulling up information on various nightlife attractions in Nos Astra, and being turned off by all of them. Clubbing? No. No dancing. He couldn't stand crowds. A movie? He wished very much to be spared having to sit still and watch trite romances unfold between quarians and turians. Music? Expel 10 was not really… his style. And Shepard did not look like one of their strung-out-on-hallex fans either. So…

What to do? The problem was that the only thing he was completely confident that  _she_  liked was tea and slaughtering slavers. And while he would enjoy that as well, it made for an odd night out. She might actually really enjoy clubbing or movies, but even if she did, at least for the dancing, it would have been hard for him to plaster a smile on his face and not flinch every time some drunken sot fell against him. At the end of the night his nerves would be so frayed that he's almost  _have_  to kill someone just to release the tension. And he was really not a very good dancer. Then again… what he had seen of Shepard, she didn't really seem to be that great of a dancer either. What a pair they would make—awkwardly shuffling on the floor together.

Thane had stifled a sigh, wondering what could possibly be taking so long. He tapped the toe of his boot against the floor, trying to figure out what might be delaying her. She could be finishing up an assignment—that was most likely. Or maybe she had changed her mind and was desperately trying to come up with a reason to gracefully back out. That was also likely. Thane hummed and blinked. He would have to prepare himself for that possibility…

But his nervous fidgeting had ended when the doors had finally opened, and… There she was.

Her muted dark wine dress (he appreciated the fact that it was bright enough that he could  _tell_  that it was red) contrasted delightfully with her pale skin, and as she bent down to slip her small feet into soft slippers, he found all of his anxiety melting away, a low, contented croon drifting lazily out of him as he contemplated how lovely she was with her rosy scars. He hadn't anticipated that she would dress that way for him—he had honestly expected her to wear her usual armor that she always chose when they docked. But… this was different. Casual. She could hide few weapons in that outfit. It meant that she trusted him… and he was quite flattered.

She had blushed under his scrutiny, and he felt himself almost ache with how much he admired her—she was such a strange juxtaposition. She was so unwavering in the field, so unstoppable and fierce, and now she looked so unassuming, so small and slender with her soft pink skin, but it was part of her thrill. He knew that in a moment, if she decided that he posed a threat to her, she could and would savagely attack him—perhaps even kill him. It was exciting, dangerous—and in this way she reminded him of himself: both of them could look innocuous, ordinary, all the while hiding a secret power that pulsed just underneath their skin, a clandestine danger that few witnessed and lived to hold the memory.

And with her at his side in the marketplace and at the restaurant, he had put aside his own inadequacies, felt that he was capable of this once again, of being someone who wasn't completely defined by death and pain and suffering.

The setting sun of Illium had illuminated her pale face, and as she told him about her childhood—her family, their crops, the warmth of the soil, the smoothness of the grain—he found himself trying very hard to picture it, to picture her as a child, without such cares, without such burdens. Both of them had been taken away from their families, but her experience had hurt so much more than his did. He had forged new connections—she seemed so very alone. It was not, though, for lack of relationships—she had the companionship of those such as Garrus and Tali, but she seemed to keep them at an arm's length, as if she were afraid of getting too close. Part of him wondered if it was due to the loss she had experienced in her life. How many had she allowed near her heart that left her? That died?

He, too, would leave her one day, but he hoped that he might live long enough to ask her to let him see such large fields of waving wheat—an ocean of feathered tops. It must be breathtaking, to stand amidst the gentle stalks, adrift in a sea of gold. He wanted to have that memory—and in return he would give her one of his...  _It is dangerous to be outside of the climate domes, but I go anyway—I cannot tolerate the artificial breezes and mechanical air of the cities for another moment, and instead stand on gray cliffs, wind whipping through my jacket, salt spray stinging my face, rain soaking my scales, and I feel_ alive _._  Thane wondered if she would like Kahje—most didn't. But he felt that she, of all off-worlders, would be able to understand and appreciate its beauty.

And as they ate and drank, the sun slipped below the horizon, and her face was lit instead with the gentle light of the cityscape reflected off the lapping waves. Their conversation had turned to a slightly darker topic, and Thane had hummed his sadness for her as she told him of her broken family. He had known, of course, what had happened to her colony—there were few who did not know of Shepard's tragic childhood—but to hear it from her voice... One could be impersonal when simply reading an account of a life; it was easy to be detached. It was not easy when the person looked him in the eyes, held him there with her sorrow and pain.

He understood why she couldn't go back—it was for the same reason that he could never return to his family even after he had completed his training as a child. He was different. Reforged in blood and violence. He did not belong to that world anymore—the world of family and simplicity and warmth—and neither did she, no matter how much they each longed to return to it.

But he had not anticipated Shepard bringing up Alenko.

He felt something wither inside of him at the mention of the man's name and had frowned at the sorrowful look in Shepard's kelp eyes. Alenko had abandoned her—she had all but admitted it—and Thane felt a sharp stab of anger when he thought of the disappointment Alenko had caused her. She already had too much of that in her life. Thane had wanted to tell her to forget about the lieutenant— _he_  was there for her, after all; she did not need a companion in her life that would carelessly drop her the moment they had a disagreement, and a disagreement that was rooted in mere miscommunication, no less.

But that would have been selfish.

For if he were true to himself, then he would have to admit that he wished to tell Shepard these things because he wanted... something that she would not, could not, give. And she seemed to truly love Alenko, despite the human's asinine behavior, and if Shepard could get her lover to once again light his eyes upon her, to sing softly for her, then Thane could do nothing except offer conciliatory advice—forgiveness was always paramount amongst mates.

And it  _hurt_  to say it, hurt to urge her to seek out Alenko again, but it was right... the right thing to do. As much as he disliked Alenko, he knew that the human might not be as bad as Thane thought he was—Shepard loved him, after all, and Thane trusted her to choose her company wisely. All people had their failings, their moments of idiocy, and if this was Alenko's, then Thane could not condemn him on that alone. The gods knew that Thane had definitely had more than his fair share of stupidity. And though it pained Thane to urge Shepard toward her former lover, he would give so very much to see her happy. Happiness, after all, was something that Thane could not give—even if she were to accept him, he would, inevitably, leave her. To cause her pain once again, to allow her to experience loss once again, was something that Thane did not want to do. With Alenko, she had a chance, a chance at a normal life. She could have children and a home and bid farewell to the death and sorrow that had reigned in her life.

But the topic, as it stood, was rather depressing, and it went against Thane's ultimate goal of the evening—to make Shepard momentarily forget her troubles.

So he gently teased her by holding the meaning of her role under the Goddess to his heart (and, if he were being honest, he held it back also because... well, because she just might find it  _odd—_ most people found his beliefs to be such), and leaned back in his chair. "Are you finished, Shepard?" She had not touched the remainder of her food for a bit.

She chased a few vegetables around her plate. "Yeah, I think so." Her smile was sweet. "Thanks again for this. It was nice."

Thane brought up his omnitool to transfer credits to the restaurant. "It does not have to be over..." He crooned low for her. "You have never walked the shores here, have you? Would you like to?"

She worried at her bottom lip, as if unsure she wanted to accept. Thane blinked, looking briefly out the window before turning his gaze back to her. He reached out to touch her hand lightly, bringing her kelp eyes up to meet his. "The moon is bright tonight, siha. The air is warm and sweet. The ocean calls to us."

She cocked her head a little, fixing him with an amused little smirk. "Well, since you put it that way, let's go."

They slipped out of the restaurant, both nearly silent now that she wore her soft shoes instead of her boots, and he took her down a weaving path to the shore, the sand crumbling under their feet. He walked slowly for her—he knew his night vision was better than hers was, although, perhaps he shouldn't assume that now that she had her 'upgrades', as she called them. They came to a fence, the ocean tumbling about ten meters beyond it, and Shepard stopped short.

"That sign." She pointed. "It says that the beach is off limits."

"It belonged to Ms. Nassana." Thane turned to smile at her in the darkness. "I do not think she will mind."

"You're terrible." She said, coloring the air a sweet pink with her amusement.

"I am practical." He climbed over the fence. "This beach is one of the better ones in the area. It is, of course, why she owned it." He turned automatically to hold out his hand for her, but she landed gracefully beside him. She took it anyway though, giving it a brief squeeze before she dropped it to walk past him, and he felt his heart flutter in response.

The path was lined with dark trees and bushes, and she pushed a branch aside to move forward, holding it for him as he caught up. "You've been here before, then?"

He matched her stride, the trail just wide enough for two. "Yes. Several times. The drell do not believe in land ownership. The sands belong to us all. The ocean heeds no master."

"Really?" She stepped lightly over a rock. "So, there's no concept of property amongst your people?"

He squeezed a bit closer to her to avoid a particularly gnarled branch that arced across the path; he gripped her shoulder briefly as he pressed himself against her before moving back to give her more room. "Hmm, not quite. If I were to take materials and build something—a house, for instance—then that house belongs to me. But the natural world... that belongs to no one. You can own that as much as you can own a sunset. It simply does not make sense."

They emerged from the tangled path, the wide bay out before them. The moon illuminated the sand, highlighting it with silver, and a few nightbirds called to each other across the waters. In the distance, he could hear the hum of traffic, just barely over the rhythmic waves. "Humans build fences around things and call it ours."

Thane tasted the salt on the air and blinked both eyelids against the breeze. "I know. It is one of the things that make other species wary of you. You're so... possessive. Not just of things, but people, ideas... You want to own it all."

She was quiet for a moment, and Thane let the waves fill the silence while she pondered his assertion. Then her words came, heavy with thought. "Maybe it's not just ownership, though. Maybe it's protection."

Thane rumbled his affection for her. It was delightful, the way she took an idea and worried at it until she could produce an answer. So many people didn't even bother questioning in the first place—she questioned and then sought the truth. "Like you protect us?" He could feel her look over at him, and he turned to face her. "We, your crew, are 'your' people, are we not? Do you own us or protect us, siha?"

"I don't own you." She said quietly, tilting her pale face up to him. "And I hope that I can protect you."

Her words were… touching. That someone sought to protect  _him_... he was not used to anyone feeling that he needed protection, much less acting on it. It was a pleasant feeling, to be looked after. But that, of course, was in her nature. It was what marked her as Arashu's own. And his duty, of course, was to ensure that she carried out the Goddess' will by giving her all that he had, all that he was. "The feeling is mutual." Her hair dipped low into her face, threads spun from a thousand fiery sunsets, and it took all of his will power to not reach up and smooth it back, tuck it behind one of her tiny shell ears, touch the soft curve of her cheek.

His voice had been deeper than usual, and it seemed to pull a shudder from her, and she closed her eyes briefly before turning to the ocean. "So," she said. "Here's the beach." She flung her arms wide, the wind catching her hair and blowing it about. "It's been forever since I've been to a place without having some sort of point, purpose, job, whatever."

"It is so for me as well. The last time..." He felt the memory come on and let it, eager to share himself with her. " _Kolyat clings to my shoulders as we climb up the rocks—Irikah reaches the top first, and reaches down to grab our son and pull him up. 'This is good.' She pronounces, looking about. 'Perfect.'_ We had gone on a picnic. That was... about fifteen years ago."

"Wow." Her eyes widened as she looked back at him, trying to smooth down her flying hair. "No vacation in fifteen years?"

"Oh, we did small things since then—we would stay with family, go to museums, play on the beach—but never a trip outside of the city limits like that. I was always... busy." He hummed low at her. "And you? When was your last true vacation?"

"About two and a half years ago, I guess?" Shepard looked down at the sands. "With... Kaidan. We took a few days on Earth."

Thane ignored the tightening of his chest. "Earth? I have never been. I hear it is lovely, though."

"It was my first time there!" She grinned. "And it is nice. We went to a place... London, have you heard of it? It's a very old city, I guess. Lots of history."

Thane nodded. "I have read of it, seen pictures. Many bloody wars."

Shepard shrugged, itching the back of her leg with the toe of her shoe. "That's just about all of human history, really."

He hummed at her, high enough for her to hear, apparently, because she looked over at him. "Drell history, too. Especially toward the end, of course."

Her eyes traveled over his form, lingering on his chest before rising to his face. "Have you ever been to Rakhana?"

He blinked, tilting his head. "Once. It is desolate and lonely. The temples hold nothing but the wind, now. It... is just so very empty. Would you have me share a memory with you?" At her nod and tiny smile, he closed his eyes briefly to pull one that he liked best. " _The dunes rise and fall, shadowed with the setting sun, and Arashu's temple rises tall out of the smooth sands below it, proud even now after a hundred years unattended by the faithful. The white sands of the walls glitter in the fading light, and I move swiftly down the dunes, my body somehow attuned to how they shift—instinctual memories—and slip inside the warm sandstone walls, running my hands along their well worn surface as I make my way to the center of the Mysteries._ "

She had stepped closer to him during his recitation, and when he opened his eyes he was momentarily surprised by her proximity. "It sounds so… beautiful. And, you're right: lonely. Why wouldn't you want to stay there? Isn't there any chance your people could rebuild?"

Thane shook his head, trilling softly. Sharing memories with her was one of the more rewarding experiences of his life. He loved to see her bright eyes take his words in, sorting through them, creating images of her own to accompany them. "Kahje is home to many now—there is little desire to go back to our old world."

She took another tiny step closer, clasping her arms over herself as if she were a bit cold. "Would you want to rebuild?"

Thane looked down at the sands. Her question was one that was bandied back and forth amongst his people from time to time. Thane had not participated in the debate—it was something that he would ultimately have no say in, after all, but it had been interesting to hear the opinions of the various factions. He thought that after he had made his pilgrimage to Rakhana he would have a firmer opinion, but that hadn't been the case at all. "I... I am not sure. The sands there, the sun... it felt good and right. But... it was not home. Regardless, it would take resources we do not have in order to do so. Perhaps future generations might decide to attempt it."

She looked sad at this, her brow furrowing, and he rumbled his concern. She was probably thinking of Mindoir. He had heard on the news that the new colony had built a statue there in her honor. She had a different reason why her home could never be reclaimed. He was taken by a desire to chase the shadows away from her bright eyes, and he took her elbow lightly, pulling her in front of him, almost folding her against him, and faced her out toward the ocean. "Look at it. Is it not beautiful? Look at how the city lights play on the waves. And can you hear that? There is a concert playing in the park across the bay."

"You're trying to distract me." She murmured, leaning in a little to his touch, and he bent his head down toward her, inadvertently inhaling the fresh water scent of her unruly hair as it danced in his face. "But it is beautiful. The moon looks so close."

"Yes." His mouth was close to her ear and she shivered and let out a little gasp, stepping away from him.

She licked her coral lips; her cheeks were a delicate pink. "How far down does the beach go? Can we walk for a bit?"

Thane immediately missed her warmth and wished she wouldn't shy away from him. "It is approximately three kilometers. It will be an easy distance."

"Do you mind? I'd like to see what the rest of the coast looks like."

"Not at all." He started off down the shore, and she fell into step next to him.

She paused now and then to nudge a shell or piece of seaweed with the toe of her shoe, and Thane stopped with her to watch, almost reminded of a curious child—Irikah had held the same fascination with the natural world; she had always been overturning rocks, peeking into long grasses, dipping sticks into deep pools. There were not many parallels between Shepard and Irikah, but this small similarity brought a smile to Thane's face. They would have been good friends.

And so they walked in silence for the better part of a kilometer, unbroken except for small comments like "look at this rock" and "I wonder what kind of shell this is" and Thane was content to let it reign for a bit, for it meant that he could observe, uninterrupted, how the moonlight shone on her legs and arms, how it brought out the delicate latticework of her scars. He let out a soft, almost silent sigh. Exquisite. They had seemed to be fading over the past several weeks, and Thane hoped they would never go away entirely.

But then she caught his gaze and stared at him with a strange expression on her face that made Thane avert his eyes to study the ground at his feet. Her eyes could be too penetrating at times. It was… unnerving. "What is it?" Her voice held notes that he could not decipher.

What could he tell her? Certainly not what he was thinking, how beautiful she was, how he admired her curiosity, how she probably would have gotten along famously with his dead wife… any one of those subjects would have just sounded… odd. And perhaps, especially with the first one, inappropriate. "Your shoes." He blurted out finally. "You should take them off. You had wanted to walk without them in the sand before."

She arched an elegant eyebrow. "I... never said that."

He looked up at her, feeling shy and awkward and almost annoyed at how she made him feel such emotions. He was supposed to be far too old to feel such things. "I saw you, before we ate. You curled your toes in your shoes when we were talking about the beach. I thought...  _The sunset illuminates her skin, making her flush a delicate pink. She looks wistfully out at the waves, and her small feet curl up in her slippers. I promise myself that she will have the opportunity to walk in the sands before the night is over._ "

She gave a tinkling little laugh, and Thane could feel her heat rise. He wanted to run his hands over her to soak it all up. "Well, nothing escapes you, I guess." She bent down, slipping off her shoes. "Are you going to as well?"

Her hair divided itself on either side of the back of her neck, and Thane was incredibly distracted by the sensuous ruby split by ivory cream. "I..."

"Come on, Thane." She grinned mischievously up at him, blissfully unaware of the tormented thoughts that danced behind his dark eyes. "What's good for the goose..."

Thane shook his head at her, grateful for her confusing, but distracting, words. "Again? Shepard,  _why_  do you employ so many fowl metaphors?"

She straightened, shoes dangling on the edge of two, slim fingers. "Foul?" Her nose was wrinkled ever so slightly, and she gave him a bewildered smile.

He thought about sharing the memory of when they stood at the galaxy map together, planning out that mission as she sneaked sips of his tea, but he decided to keep it to himself, not trusting himself to keep things… innocent. "Yes. Ducks, chickens, and now geese? Are they really important in your culture?"

She got it anyway though, her eyes widening, pink mouth making a little 'o' of surprise. "Ha! Fowl! As in birds!" He blinked at her unnecessary clarification—what else could he be talking about—and she burst out laughing, and the wind swirling around her, tugging at the edges of her dress as if joining in the revelry. "I hadn't noticed I did that, but no, they're not." She tried to contain her giggles, but it was to no avail, apparently. She clutched her side, her laughter uncontrollable now, and Thane would have felt slightly left out (he  _really_  did not understand what was so funny), but she gripped his arm to steady herself, and he didn't think that was so bad.

She wiped a tear from her eye. "Oh, god, Thane. That was hilarious."

"Thank you?" He must have unwittingly made some sort of play on words. If only he knew exactly what sort of thing he had said…

And that set her off again, and this time, Thane couldn't help smiling in return. She sank down into the sand, still laughing softly, and pulled him down with her. "Goddamn, I haven't laughed that hard in a long time."

Her hand lingered on him, and he trilled his pleasure. "It is good to see you do so, Shepard." And it was—she allowed herself to be weighed down far too much with her duties. One could only stand the stress so long before one reached the breaking point. And he could not allow that to happen to her—too much depended on her being able to complete her mission. And if by some miracle she were able to pull through this under such stress and succeed, she would be damaged beyond repair at the end of it, which would, to him, be just as big of a tragedy. What good was saving the galaxy if the best and brightest amongst them collapsed under the weight of her responsibilities at the end?

She smiled ruefully at him, taking her hand away to lean back in the sand. "There's usually not a lot to laugh about."

He rumbled low at her. "That is not entirely true. You have to learn to see the humor in every day things."

Her laugh was teasing now. "Yeah, because you're an expert at that."

Oh yes, it was not hard to pick up on her sarcasm. "Perhaps, but I was not aware that  _my_  life was to be taken as a model for all others."

She leaned over to nudge him with her shoulder. "Why not? Everyone wants to be a badass assassin."

Trilling his amusement—such a hilarious picture of himself—he mimicked her motion, earning a laugh. "Yes, it is great. I get to kill very interesting people in very interesting ways."

She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "What more can anyone ask for?"

Thane smiled over at her. "Well then, siha, I will trade lives with you. You can be the skulking assassin, and I can be the hero of the galaxy."

She pursed her lips at him, fixing him with a seemingly serious expression, but he could see the sparks deep inside her kelp eyes. "Would you really want all that publicity?"

He shook his head, rumbling his regret. "Hmm. No. Never mind. I retract my offer."

She chuckled some more and dug her feet into the sand. "Too late. No take backs. Now  _you_  get to deal with all the stupid Cerberus shit and that infuriating turian council member and everyone always wanting you to wave a magic wand to solve all of their problems. I'll go to Life Support and meditate, coming out only to drink tea."

He smiled at the mental image of himself that her words conjured up. "I come out for other reasons. Tea is just the  _main_  reason."

Her smile seemed to falter a bit. "I used to not drink tea, you know? I used to drink coffee."

Thane nodded, looking out to the waves. "Yes, you mentioned that once."

Her tone shifted to something hesitant and hurt, and Thane moved his gaze back to her again. "I remember... before... that I drank coffee all the time. But now I drink tea."

Even if he didn't see the frown on her face, Thane would have known that her thoughts were turning in a dark direction. "Tastes change."

"Yeah, sure. Of course. But why did  _mine_  change?" She shook her head. "Never mind. It's a stupid question."

He touched her gently, carefully, tracing the edge of the sleeve on her shoulder. "No, it is not. You think it is important. Let us talk about it. What is it you fear?"

She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs as if she were cold and was quiet for a long time. Thane wasn't quite sure what to do—part of him thought it would be best just to leave her to it, let her work things out on her own, but the other part was convinced that  _this_ was what he was here for, to help her, to be the receptacle of all her negative emotions. She could pour them out to him, and he could carry it. He was used to such things; it would not harm him anymore.

So he persisted in his low song for her, one that was high enough that he knew she heard, could see it in the way she cocked her head toward him. And finally, after many silent moments, she spoke. "I haven't... told anyone this. Don't say anything. But when Miranda... I had just met her, right?" She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. "I had just finished talking to the Illusive Man. And then I go talk to her, and she says 'oh I wanted to put a control chip in your head.' Real nice. So, now I'm always worried about... that. But that's not the most important thing. I mean, I was  _dead_. Very dead. As dead as someone could be. What if they couldn't bring everything back? I go through all those stupid biographies published on me, trying to make sure I remember everything. What if I don't? What do I do?"

The memory of their conversation about Kasumi was instantly in his head, and Thane understood, now, what she had been driving at. He leaned closer to her, wanting to take her into his arms and soothe her concerns away. "You worry that you are changed."

"How would I even know?" She looked over at him now, eyes pleading for an answer that he did not have.

All he could offer her was his song, and he crooned for her, letting it color his words with peace and gentleness. "You place too much stock in memories, Shepard. I did not know you before. But I believe I can say I know you tolerably well now. The person you are now... humbles me. You are extraordinary. I do not mean simply your prowess in battle. You are..." He searched for a word. "Beautiful." She blinked, looking surprised, and he hastened to clarify. "I mean... beautiful in the sense that the brightness of your spirit is like a newborn star—all fire and power and danger and incredible, breathtaking beauty. So you see, siha, who you were before—whether you are that person now or not—does not matter. What matters is _now_ , and now you are beautiful."

She turned from him and colored faintly in the moonlight. Her scars… Arashu help him for thinking of this now, but they  _were_  beautiful. The moon only accentuated them, the pale light caressing her like a lover. "You're such a flatterer."

"It is not flattery, Shepard." One finger drifted up to trace a scar across her arm before he could stop it, and she shivered under his touch. Thane crooned for her, a rising and falling song of deep hums and gentle trills. She was beautiful on the inside and the outside, and she needed to know, despite what she might think of him, despite how it might… change things. He told her as a friend, as a confidant, if only because he could tell her as nothing more than that. "I meant to tell you this before. I wanted to, but it did not seem appropriate at the time. But, I wanted to say... your scars. They are lovely."

She looked as if she wanted to pull away, her eyes wide, but she held herself still, radiating warmth. "I..."

He couldn't stop himself, even as part of his mind screamed at him to be quiet; he was betraying too much. But her skin was so very soft. "When you wore that dress, you seemed self conscious. I wanted to tell you that you should not be. Such delicate patterns, such exquisite colors. They... you... are beautiful."

She seemed to find her voice again, watching him trail his fingers up her arm. "You're probably one of the only people who thinks so." Her words were quiet, hesitant, breathy in such a way that his heart beat almost painfully fast in response.

"I doubt that. But if so, then I am fortunate." His fingers reached the top of her shoulder, and he wished that he dared to continue, to caress the soft skin of her throat. Her warmth... her pulse jumped under her pale skin, and she smelled of heat and salt, and he wanted to bury his face in the crook of her neck and lick up that scent until she cried out underneath him. But...

Goddess, he was losing himself.

Instead he took his hand away, resting it lightly on her back—a friendly gesture—one that he hoped mitigated the sudden flush along his frill, and maybe her breathing would slow down, and she wouldn't scent the air with that intoxicating taste, and make him want to… want to…

She curled her toes in the sand. "You should take off your shoes too." Her voice held notes of nervous tension, and he hummed softly for her.

"Very well." He took away his touch and reached down to unzip the sides of his boots, pulling them off. He blinked at her soft laugh. "What is it?"

"Your toes. Your toes are fused too."

His diverted hum was low and thrumming, and he was thankful for the sudden ease in pressure. Shepard: always an expert in defusing situations before they became dangerous. "Yes, of course. That is normal. It is abnormal for you to have so very many."

"What?" She poked him playfully in the arm. "You're the weird one."

"Actually, no. Humans: so many fingers, so many toes. Look at the turians, the quarians, and a host of other races—they have far less than ten fingers and toes and get along in life just fine. Why do you have so many? Excessive."

"Hey, the asari have the same number."

He felt his lips tug up in a little smirk, amusement thrumming deep in his chest. "So your species are both strange." He dug his feet into the sand, sighing at the pleasure of the rasping grains along his scales. He lay back, flinging his arms above his head. It had been years since he had done this—feeling the sand on his scales, hearing the ocean drum through the grains. He looked up at her; her eyes were bright and strange. "Lie with me, Shepard." She colored at his words, but settled next to him. He could hear her breathing.

He closed his eyes, narrowing his focus to the tumbling sea. "Can you feel it?" He murmured. "Can you feel the pull of the tide? The ocean calls to us."

They were quiet for a few moments. Thane could feel Shepard settle herself more firmly in the sand next to him, and he smiled. Who would have thought that he would be lying on the beach with his commander? It seemed almost surreal. Even a few months ago, he would have never thought such a thing to be possible, firstly because of the hierarchical separation between the two of them and secondly because... well, he simply hadn't really liked her in the beginning. And yet... here they were. It felt right, good, and Thane wondered how he could have expected to live the rest of his days without her companionship. If only they had not met under such dire circumstances. There were so many things he wanted to show her, and there was not nearly enough time to do so.

Her voice brought him back to her. "The stars are lovely."

"Indeed." He rumbled.

"Did you know that there's a skylight over my bed?" She said softly. "I can look up at the stars when I go to sleep. I always darken it, though. It must have been some sick Cerberus joke to include it."

Thane opened his mouth to ask why before shutting it again. Of course. Why would someone who had suffocated in space want to look out on the void? He was suddenly worried that he was asking her to do something that made her uncomfortable. "Do the stars disturb you now?"

She shook her head a little, bringing her hands up to drum her fingers along her flat stomach. "No. But I have this absurd fear that the window will crack and then... then..." Thane held his breath, waiting on a desperate edge for her to continue, to broach a subject he had not dared allowed himself to wonder about. "You know..."

She trailed off, and Thane let out an annoyed hiss before he could stop himself. He had not allowed himself to consider whether or not to ask Shepard about her… experience. It was terribly personal, something that should be between only her and the gods. But… he wanted to know. She was the only one, the only one besides those from very old tales, who had gone to the sea and come back. When thoughts of his death plagued him in the middle of the night, when all was quiet and still and his own mind forged oppressive manacles, trapping him in this broken, dying body, he had wanted to… ask. It would help so very much to know… something. Anything. Even the smallest detail would ease his mind a bit.

And Shepard, so curious, so observant, had picked up on his thoughts—he betrayed them too easily with his flushing throat, his rasping hums. "What are you thinking?"

It was wrong to ask. "It is nothing."

Thane kept his eyes trained on the night sky, but he could feel her bright little eyes on him like a physical weight. "I said that earlier and you wouldn't let me get away with it. What makes you think you can get away with it now?"

His deep rumble was almost a growl, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see her wet her lips. "I am not trying to… get away… with anything. I am trying not to… pry. It is none of my business."

"I would tell you, if you asked."

He felt his resolve begin to crumble, and all he could offer was a stern "No." But it felt weak even to him.

"All you have to do is ask. I'll tell you all that I know. But I warn you that it isn't much."

Arashu preserve him from Her stubborn, infatuating siha. Thane knew he should be quiet. He shouldn't ask it. But... the gods damn him for giving in. "You..." He sighed. "You have crossed the ocean, siha. What... what was...?"

"There was nothing." Her voice was small. "Nothing at all. I remember being terrified. And then I woke up in Cerberus' lab."

That was not exactly what he was expecting. "Ah."

"That must be a dissatisfying answer. I wish I could tell you more." She let out a soft sigh. "It felt like I had just gone to sleep and woke up again. Like no time had passed at all. And now I wonder… is there nothing? Or am I just not allowed to remember? Or something else entirely?"

Thane wasn't quite sure what to say. He felt a cold weight settle in his chest, and he shivered slightly. Her answer was not comforting. If anyone was to make it safely across the sea, it would be Arashu's own. For Shepard to  _not_  see anything, feel anything… What did that mean for him? Wouldn't it be even worse for him? Such a sinner, so unworthy, a complete failure at everything the gods had tasked him with in his life.

It seemed as if every attempt he made to make this evening light and fun dissolved into discomfort and heavy conversation. He felt the blame was spread equally between them—both were naturally melancholy people, he supposed. And from this there seemed no escape—his own thoughts were dark now, and it was going to be difficult to bring himself out of this, much less to help his siha.

He brought his arms down to wrap them around himself, trying to absorb some of the warmth of the sand, when Shepard suddenly propped herself up, a hand on either side of his face, leaning over him to stare into his eyes. "Are you frightened?"

Thane blinked his surprise at her sudden movement, the serious tone in her voice. Yet her breath was still warm and sweet. "Am I frightened of what, siha?"

She frowned at his evasion. "You know."

And he did, but he did not like her for dragging it out of him. "I have long since accepted it."

Her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips; his gaze was drawn there. "I did too, in those last moments. But that didn't stop me from being scared shitless."

"When I think of my body's passing..." Thane paused, his chest becoming tight. "I am... resigned. I do, at times, feel... anxiety. It is the fear of the unknown, I suppose." He hesitated a moment, unwilling to go on, but her eyes were bright and her skin was flushed, and he felt that, if she could, she would be singing a song of comfort to him now.

She would always be his undoing.

And the words tumbled out of him. "Will the sea accept me even after all I have done? Will Kalahira guide me into Her embrace despite sending my love into Her arms before her time? Will... will Irikah be waiting for me? These are questions which disturb my thoughts from time to time."

"I thought I would see my family." She nodded her understanding and her head dipped lower as if in prayer, her hair almost brushing his face. He wished he could tuck it behind her ear, trail his hand down her throat. "But there was nothing. The same questions plague me. What if I don't deserve to see them again?"

He reached up instead to brush grains of sand from her shoulder, needing to touch her in that moment. "You are the only one who doubts yourself. If any awaits us beyond the sea, then surely they will be waiting for you, siha. The gods know your destiny. It was not yet your time."

She was so close. Her heat, her breath… He thought he could hear her heart beat, but it could have easily been his own. "Are you going to tell me what that means?" Her voice was a bare whisper, and he felt it march down his scales, the sound caressing him in secret, intimate ways, making him almost tremble underneath her.

He could barely respond, could barely summon the will to smile softly at her. She could have killed him in that moment, and he could not have lifted a finger to defend himself. He was helpless under her bright gaze. "Not tonight."

Her lips were parted ever so slightly, wet and shining, eyes large and swimming with secret thoughts, and Thane thought for one aching moment that she might lean forward and...

But she lay back down next to him, her hand seeking his. It was small, a strange fit, but they made it work. He let out a shuddering breath that he hadn't known he was holding. Her own words were unsteady, and he did not dare think about why that might be; it was already too much. "I think what scared me the most was that I was alone. I had no one. I won't let that happen to you."

He held her hand tighter, closing his eyes against the stars. "Thank you." The words seemed inadequate, but what else could he offer? If the gods granted him mercy, he would fall in battle to protect her, not breathe his last in a stark, bare hospital room. And Shepard, sweet, kind, lovely woman that she was… if she chose to comfort him as he performed his final duty for her, then it was more than he had any right to expect.

He heard her take a breath, and looked over in time to see a smile flit across her face. "So, this isn't the only time we'll do this, right? You said next time you'll go swimming with me. I'm going to hold you to that."

He gave a low, rumbling laugh—he had not been able to pull them completely out of melancholy, but she must have noticed his attempts over the evening and was now sweeping in at the end to finish his work. "Of course, Shepard. We should invite the whole crew. A... ah... beach party?"

This drew a laugh out of her, and he trilled his happiness. "Can you picture Mordin in a bathing suit?"

He hissed his disapproval, which made her laugh harder. "I would actually really rather  _not_  do that—my imagination is better occupied with other things."

She flashed him a wicked grin. "Hey, you're the one who suggested inviting the crew—which includes him—in the first place. Enjoy your permanent memory of that."

"I will be sure to take plenty of pictures and leave them everywhere for you to see—I would not want your inferior memory to allow you to forget."

"Yeah, that's not going to look weird at all. You, taking risque pictures of a salarian wearing next to nothing."

He could not help laughing at that, and she joined in with him, both of them chuckling on the sands like they did not have any other care in the world. In a few moments, it died down, and both of them smiled at each other in the darkness, her bright eyes meeting his in shared amusement. She shifted a little to move closer to him, and they held hands in comfortable, companionable silence as the waves tumbled in the moonlight.

* * *

 **A/N:**  I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. It was one of the chapters that I'd really looked forward to writing!

I don't thank everyone nearly enough for all the great reviews you leave for me, so I'd like to take this time to  _thank you_  for all of your kind words. Even if I don't respond personally, please know that when you take the time to review my story, it touches me very deeply. I love writing something that entertains you, and when you share your happiness with me, it makes me want to write for all of you forever! Thank you!


	13. The Awful Daring of a Moment's Surrender

_She hovers over me, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, and she sighs, breath tickling my nose, and I wish she would just... just..._

_And then she does._

_Her lips crash into mine, and I am surprised by the moan that is ripped from my throat. I pull her on top of me, a slim leg on either side of my hips, and she presses her heat against me, gripping my wrists in strong, slender hands, and hauling them over my head, pinning me below her in the soft sands as she bends her head to lick the sensitive flesh of my throat, and I arch underneath her, her name a shuddering cry on my lips..._

Thane stirred on his bed, opening his eyes slowly, his body frustratingly waking itself up at the normal time as dreams and memories continued to mix together in his head. The last clinging threads of the dream washed over him, and his stretch turned into a shiver. It was too real; he could almost feel her soft fingers slipping down his chest, into the waist of his trousers… He shook his head to clear it of the dream memory, albeit a bit reluctantly. It  _had_  been an extremely nice dream. But, honestly, dreaming something like that made him feel a slight twinge of guilt. He used to only dream of Irikah, and now... To dream of Shepard in such a manner... To even allow himself to entertain the thought that they might... It was something that he hadn't quite come to terms with. It wasn't that he thought that it was wrong of him to seek the companionship of another after Irikah's death, especially after ten years. Love was not finite, and feeling affection for someone else did not diminish his wife's place in his heart. But such happiness was... unfamiliar. It felt wrong, somehow, to feel such hope, such anticipation.

 _"More than friends." She says, and for a moment I cannot believe that I have heard that; I feel like asking her to repeat it, but the memory is already flashing behind my eyes_.  _"That is…" I pause, almost not trusting myself to keep my voice level, calm. "…Intriguing."_

He had confessed his friendship to her because he had wanted to end the night on a platonic note—he wanted to assure her that he sought her for her companionship, nothing more. But she had surprised him with her response. It threw everything he had been training himself to think into chaos, and he was forced to suddenly reevaluate his relationship with Shepard. He, of course, had desired more from their relationship recently, but he had never thought that she might also want the same. Why would she? He had, at first, entertained the anxiety of the differences in their species, and thought that while he was able to see the beauty in her alien features, there was no reason to assume that she would be able to look past his scales, his frill, his distinct lack of hair—all the things about himself that he didn't realize could be considered strange until he thought about himself through her eyes. But he considered, now, the very real possibility that just as he was able find beauty in her soft, patterned skin, the brightness of her eyes, the low sweetness of her voice, she might also be able to see something that she found attractive in him. Why else would she say that they might be more than friends? It meant that not only did she find value in the conversation of someone as different as he, but she also found him… desirable as a…

Goddess, he could barely allow himself to  _think_  the word; it was so very new. He had been amazed at his own audacity—so soon after she had suggested that they might be more—daring to slip his fingers through her soft hair to tuck errant strands behind her ear, revealing her bright, arresting eyes. He heard her breathy gasp as he did so, and it took all he had to not continue his touch, to lift her chin to reveal the pale expanse of her throat and taste the heat of her pulse there.

But that was too soon, too soon, and he had contented himself with wishing her a good night, eager to be off to bed himself so that he might start the day anew, fresh with the knowledge and possibilities of what had just happened. And now… now it was here, and he still barely knew what to think. He lay on his bed, fingers laced together over his bare chest, and let out a deep sigh, trying to order his thoughts. Her declaration wasn't quite, well… a declaration. It was more of a hesitant suggestion of exploration. She could still decide later on that he was too much trouble to be worth it—he had more than his fair share of issues, after all. He would not blame her for thinking twice about what she had said last night and retracting it in the favor of, he had to admit it, good sense. Thane was a bad choice, after all. He had enough emotional problems to rival the rest of the crew all put together.

And then there was the small matter of Shepard's… previous attachments. He could not shake the feeling that Shepard still loved Alenko. Thane was not a jealous man by nature, and he was certainly not jealous in this situation, but having one's heart torn in two was not healthy. Of course, Thane flattered himself by thinking that Shepard's heart would be affected in such a way in the first place—he could merely be a distraction while Shepard dealt with her lovers' quarrel, a fling to pass the time with before she settled back with the partner she truly wanted. Thane did not  _want_  to think of Shepard as so fickle in her affections, but he had observed humans long enough to know that promises were easily broken. Attachments were easily dissolved.

Connected to that was the possibility of him being an obstacle to Shepard—should Thane have the audacity to interfere when she would, she  _must_ , be happier with one of her own species? Even if she did not choose to be with Alenko, what sort of partner would Thane be for her—unable to give her children, complicating her life with his own? The right thing to do would be to step aside, to not distract her from what she should be doing, what she should have.

But, those thoughts were barely considered before a new point shimmered into view. This was  _not_  solely his choice.

He was thinking all of these things in a vacuum, as it were, without Shepard's input, without her opinion or true desires known. It would be utterly patronizing of him to simply  _assume_  he knew what was best for her, to just make that decision as if she were not a completely rational and quite intelligent adult fully capable of taking care of herself. Thane respected her far too much to treat her in such a manner. Even though it was difficult for him to understand, he knew that some humans didn't even want children (drell had a unique perspective on offspring, he supposed, in that being part of an almost endangered species made having children, and many of them, almost necessary; it had been a point of distant regret for him that he had only been able to have one with Irikah). And while his life might be complicated, hers surely was as well. He was willing to take her burdens on as his own; she might be willing to do the same for him.

And now that his anxieties were set aside for the time being, Thane found his thoughts drifting to the previous night, of how she had hovered over him in the sands, how her heat had seeped into his skin. And then, touching her soft, pale face before he said goodnight… he found his hand drifting up of its own volition to his face, sliding his fingers down the ribbing of his throat, imagining how it must feel to touch her there, how it must feel for her to touch  _him_ …

He let out a humming sigh, eyes fluttering closed, before taking his hand away, clenching it into a tight fist. He could not just lie here and get lost in his fantasies all day—no matter how tempting that might be—but as he started to rise, images still flashed behind his eyes… Sweeping her hair aside to claim her neck, hearing her call out his name as he picked her up, hands on the backs of her thighs, slamming her against the window in his room, the molten core outside pulsing in time with their own frantic breaths…

Thane shook his head. Okay... he could  _not_  go out and get tea right now.

This was almost embarrassing. He hadn't had to meditate for reasons like… these… since he was much, much younger. But he didn't allow himself to think too much on that, preferring instead to get straight to it; the sooner he calmed himself, the sooner he could go out and get breakfast.

Thus, he sank down to the floor, legs tucked underneath him and jacket and vest laid across his lap, humming the first notes of Arashu, eyes half closed, not truly seeing what was before him but instead looking inward for peace, serenity. Sinking deeper into himself, the endless mosaics of the ancient temples patterned themselves in his head—the arrangements never repeating, the paths always doubling back, spiraling out, teasing him with what seemed like an old pattern but that burst into newness, colors bright and unfading.

_Her hand, warm in mine, makes me feel as much at peace as her low, soothing words. I feel as if I could lie there forever with her, the ocean crashing before us, and be perfectly content._

The colors and tumbling shapes, somehow sharp and soft at the same time, were overlaid with the gentle sounds of dishes and running water.

 _Her smile is quick, her words light, and I trill my happiness, uncertain what I have done to deserve such a woman in my life now, but grateful for her presence, for her ability to wake me, to bring me back to this world and do more than just move through it but to_ participate _…_

Thoughts receded. All that was left was the song, humming along each edge, and he was not of himself anymore. Sands spread out before him in an endless sea of gold, and still the mosaic continued, almost painful in its beauty. The designs collapsed, folded, and the pressure mounted, the sense that he was reaching the peak looming in his mind. His mind's eye sharpened, each edge a razor line, and the patterns all came to a single, blinding point and burst out in a radiant array of chaotic shards.

Thane opened his eyes fully, his body sluggish, his heart rate down to a slow crawl, his breaths coming so infrequently that to someone observing him he might almost appear carved out of stone. He had heard other species found the stillness that drell could achieve unsettling, but Thane often found their constant, nervous movement disturbing itself. So few species truly appreciated the value of just being  _still_.

For the stillness, the meditation, had its advantages. With his mind clear, Thane could let feelings and emotions with far greater permanence than simple lust drift unimpeded to the surface of his thoughts, and this time was no exception. As much as he liked to think of Shepard in a physical manner, what was more important to him was how she made him feel at peace with himself, with the galaxy. She spurred him on, to be sure, but she also made him forget what it was like to be sad, to be alone. There were times that the long period of his life that he had spent in solitary deeds and thoughts seemed as distant as if they were from a completely different lifetime.

He could make out her voice in the mess—she was out there eating breakfast with the crew, and he smiled at the thought of sharing his thoughts with her, his hopes for the two of them. Thane stood up, stretching out joints that had gotten stiff during his meditations. He slipped on his vest and jacket, stepping quietly outside of his room to join her. They could talk. Not there, of course, not with everyone around them. But they could decide when they might want to share a quiet moment alone over tea later on. He could share his concerns with her, and they could figure out—together—which was the best route they could take. It was a comfort to know that he could easily talk to her about this; there were so few people he could be completely honest and open with, and he considered himself blessed that she was one of them.

* * *

Thane watched his siha hurry away, a small smile on his face. It seemed to him that they had come to the same conclusion—she wished to talk to him as well, and he was pleased with the thought that they were so attuned to each other that their desires and needs synced up so readily.

And, despite his mental assertions to define this relationship before they did anything else, it had been difficult for him to restrain himself from trailing his fingers on her soft, delicately patterned skin, to treat her with easy familiarity that he knew he had not earned yet, and honestly might not ever earn. So he had contented himself with one of his new favorite things to do—challenge that quick wit of hers with his own and delight in the sharp responses she would give him. He loved seeing her bright little eyes fix on his own, that self-assured smirk tugging at her coral lips…

He found himself staring off into space—probably with an idiotic expression on his face, as Garrus was eying him curiously. Thane hummed deeply to clear his throat and gathered up his tea cup, hastily retreating to his room before the turian decided to start pelting him with questions—Thane could practically see the thoughts churning in his head. But as Thane neared his door, the door to Port Observation slid open, and Kasumi poked her head out.

"Hey. Hey Thane." She was nearly humming with excitement, but over what, Thane could not tell.

He paused, his hand hovering over the entry pad for his room. "Yes, Ms. Goto?"

"Come in here!" She waved him over, and Thane let his hand drop, a light trill of curiosity escaping him.

He followed her in, and she dropped down on the couch, patting the cushion beside her. "Sit down!"

Thane did as he was told, tucking one leg underneath him. What could she possibly want? Thane wasn't used to any of the crew deliberately seeking out his company for no reason, except Shepard. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Kasumi pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "Tell me  _everything_."

Thane cocked his head at her, rumbling his confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

"Don't hold anything back!" She warned. "I want to know every detail."

And now Thane just started feeling incredibly dense. "Of what?" The last mission? Their progress thus far on this particular contract? Breakfast?

She poked him playfully in the shoulder. "Don't play coy! The whole ship is wondering how your date with the Commander went."

Thane was glad that he didn't have a mouthful of tea at the moment, for he would have choked on it. Yes, perhaps he  _was_  dense, but that was the last thing he thought Kasumi would ask about. "It… it was not a date. It was dinner." So she wanted gossip? It would almost be funny if the gossip were not about him. And especially since said gossip was not based in fact—it really had not been a  _date_. He had not been courting Shepard. Regardless of his attachment to his Commander, the outing had been entirely innocent.

"Oh, don't bother denying it, Romeo." The Shakespearean character that died alongside his lover over a ridiculous bout of miscommunication and familial feuds? It was hardly flattering, and Thane frowned. "You might not completely give it away," and Thane felt a brief pulse of relief that he wasn't  _entirely_  transparent. "But Shep is obviously taken with you. And inquiring minds want to know."

She was obviously taken with him? Now Thane honestly wondered how much human body language he was  _not_  picking up on. For he could not see any marked difference in her treatment of him—they still spoke with the same ease that they had for a while now, and if she had not said what she did last night, he would have had no clue that she might desire him. What sort of visual clues did humans leave for such things? Or perhaps it was the pheromones? No, Thane remembered that humans did not quite use scent in the way that other species did. He wondered how much both of them were missing out on, how many covert communications that neither of them understood.

Thane took a delicate sip of his tea as he pondered this, a part of him—he had to admit—enjoying the anticipation that Kasumi betrayed, even with her face half covered. "I am sorry." He said finally. "If the Commander wants to share her personal feelings on the subject, that is up to her. As for me, there is nothing sensational to report. I had an enjoyable meal and a pleasant conversation with Shepard, nothing more."

Kasumi threw back her hood with a sigh of exasperation, running her hand through short, fine dark hair. Thane smiled—now he could finally see her eyes. "You're such a gentleman." She said the word as if it were an insult, which made Thane hum his amusement. "I'll get the information somehow."

Thane blinked slowly at her, humming contentedly. If there was one thing he knew about Shepard, it was that she valued her privacy as much as he did. If there  _had_  been something gossip worthy, Kasumi would have a definite shortage of first-hand sources. "I have no doubt that if there  _were_ information to get, you would be the only one capable of retrieving it."

She grinned at him, her painted lips a most intriguing shade of purple. "Come on, can't you at least tell me what  _you_  think of her?"

Thane inclined his head. "Yes, but that is something that is hardly fodder for gossip. I admire her a great deal. She is intelligent and strong. I imagine that most of the crew shares my opinion."

Thane thought Kasumi might get fed up with his evasiveness, but she just smiled even broader and forged on. "What about physically? You're two different species, after all. What do drell think of hair, for example?"

"I admit that I found it strange at first. But I think I have gotten used to it."

"So you think she's pretty?"

Thane thought that was a very leading question and smiled. "I think that most species find her attractive, yes? I have even heard turians admiring her. I think it has to do more with her personality than anything—she is very engaging."

And, apparently Kasumi knew when a source was going to be worthless, for she waved an irritated hand at him. "Fine, be impossible."

Thane let his smile grow broader. "Am I dismissed, then?"

"If you're going to be useless, then yes."

Thane got up, trilling his amusement, and left the thief behind to go wash his now empty tea cup in the sink. He was almost done with his task when he heard quick steps behind him. He turned around, setting the cup on the disk rack to dry, to see Garrus blocking his way out of the kitchen, trapping him effectively behind the counter unless Thane wanted to vault over it. "Hello, Garrus."

"Thane." The turian's expression was hard to read. "How are you?"

Thane hesitated for a brief moment. Something was... wrong. He did not have to be an expert in turian body language to know that Garrus was upset about something. He was stiff, his mandibles folded tightly against his face. "I am well. And you?"

"Fine." His voice was short, harsh. "Listen, I need to talk to you about a few things."

Thane blinked, wrists turning up to bare themselves to the obviously annoyed turian. "Yes?"

"They're important." Sharp blue eyes scanned Thane's form, as if sizing him up. It made Thane tense, and he felt an uneasy hum sound in his throat. "Personal, even. Will you follow me into the battery?"

"Of course." Thane's mind raced with the possibilities... Personal? Had Thane unwittingly offended Garrus in some way? He padded after Garrus, eyes trained on the floor. Or perhaps... The memory of Garrus' intensely curious stare this morning danced behind his eyes, and for a brief moment, Thane's mind reeled with the idea that Garrus might seek Shepard for his own. But, as soon as the thought surfaced, Thane dismissed it with an almost outright laugh. There had been no indication of that. And even though Thane might find Shepard confusing, he trusted his judgment enough to know that Garrus was most definitely not interested in his Commander. But, that still left him with absolutely no idea on what Garrus might want to talk about.

But as soon as the doors closed behind him, Garrus whirled on Thane, making the drell take an automatic step back. "Shepard and I have been friends for a long time now."

The statement, so obvious that it almost defied meaning, threw Thane off balance, and he could only reply with a bewildered stare, blinking both sets of eyelids as he waited for Garrus to clarify himself.

The turian let out an irritated hiss; whether he was annoyed at Thane for not comprehending him or himself for his lack of coherence, Thane wasn't sure. "I'm just saying that Alenko already screwed things up, you know? He should have stuck by her, and he didn't. Shepard doesn't show it, but that hurt her. A lot. I don't want to see her go through the same thing again. I mean, it's her decision to be with you and all, but I'm just letting you know."

Now Thane thought he knew where this was going, and flashed his wrists to the turian, wishing that the gesture meant something to him. "You needn't worry…" He attempted to clarify.

But the turian cut him off, apparently not done. "I don't know how much you know about my culture. But I consider Shepard to be more than just my commander. She's my friend. And as much as we're loyal to our superiors, we're even more loyal to our friends. We fight, die, and kill for them." And here Garrus eyed him meaningfully. "So… what I'm saying is… treat her well. You break her heart, and I'll break your neck."

Thane had to stifle his smile, wary of annoying the turian even further. It wasn't that Thane didn't think he could follow through on his promise; Garrus could be a formidable enemy. Rather, Thane was amused by the thought of Shepard having such a protective friend. The turian reminded Thane of an over-protective sibling, which in turn reminded him of how Thane had reacted one time when he had heard of how one of Rayna's long term lovers had spurned her. It was both funny and comforting to see how, despite obvious differences in species, so many races in the galaxy could still find such things in common.

So Thane bowed low to Garrus, baring his wrists in the process. "I both respect and admire Shepard more than any other and would never dream of betraying her trust. I can assure you, that if it is within my power, I will be at her side until the end."

Garrus fluttered his mandibles and seemed to ease his stance. "Right. Good. I'm glad we talked." And with that, Garrus began to turn back to his calibrations, and Thane was apparently dismissed.

Therefore, Thane left him to his work, stepping quietly out with a murmured farewell, to which the turian responded with a friendly wave.

The entire day, thus far, had been a series of surprising confrontations. And while they were intriguing (and in Kasumi's case, amusing), all of them were unimportant compared to the conversation he anticipated having tonight.

And so he waited for her to come to him.

She really was busy—lunch came and went without her taking a break, and after dinner was announced, Thane perched at the table to see if she would make an appearance only to have the meal end without her showing up. It seemed as if they both abused their bodies from time to time. It was something that Thane might have to concern himself with—they could not save the galaxy if she was falling over from fatigue, after all.

After dinner consisted of Thane replying to a message from Kolyat—his son apparently continued to impress Bailey and the other officers. Thane had wondered how easily Kolyat would have been able to adjust working with so many other species—no other drell or even hanar held a position in C-Sec, and for Thane's part, he knew he had found it... odd when he was younger to work next to so many unfamiliar races. Studying mannerisms had not prepared him for actual application, and Kolyat did not have the educational advantage that Thane had. But he must have inherited his mother's knack for adaptation, for Kolyat had no difficulties to report. It was yet another way in which his son excelled, and Thane felt each word he recorded for Kolyat humming with pride.

But then after that was done, Thane found himself wandering over to the armory, rifle in hand, to end the evening with a nice, relaxing cleaning session. The armory was, thankfully, empty (he and Jacob had gotten along better since their discussion, but Thane still preferred to be alone), and Thane got to work immediately, breaking down the rifle, laying each component gently on the soft cloth.

The motions were so familiar to him by now that they had taken on a meditative quality, and he found his eyes half closing as he worked the solvent down the barrel, his mind drifting.  _Snippets of music drift up from the streets below, and I glance over at her as she leans against the balcony rail, one slender arm dangling over the edge._ It had been one of the few contracts they had worked on together. That song had always been Rayna's favorite, and he remembered her expression as she looked wistfully down at the street musicians; he had wished for a moment that they were not working, that they had never been working, and they were exactly as they pretended to be—brother and sister, traveling together, seeing family and not contacts. He hummed the song now, wondering if she would ever get to meet Shepard and hoping that they would get along as well as he imagined that they would.

The silent hush of the door behind him made him tense, and the smell of fresh, clean water and tender spring grasses made him stop his song, and he raised one hand to greet her as he ran the last cloth down the stock of the rifle. "How was your day, siha?"

She padded up next to him, and even though he felt silly, he couldn't keep the smile from tugging up the corners of his lips. He just felt ridiculously pleased to have her near him. "Busy." She said, and he could feel her little eyes on him. "How did you know it was me?"

Thane looked over at her now, the smile still lingering as he let his eyes drift over her face, her features memorized but still such a joy to take in. "Your scent."

That seemed to surprise her, and he wished that she had his senses so that she might be able to taste the sweetness of the air around her. "Oh." Her eyes darted nervously over his form. "So, anyway, I wanted to talk to you about last night."

As did he. "Ah, yes." Thane hummed his anticipation and grabbed the towel on the table and started cleaning the grease off of his hands; he could hardly touch his siha with dirty fingers. "What is it you wanted to say?"

Her eyes dropped down to his hands. "I may have given you the..." She paused as if searching for the right words. "...wrong impression."

Her tone made something in him shrink back with anxiety. Perhaps she  _had_  rethought what she said. He shoved away the growing hurt, determined not to let it show on his face. It was no matter, no matter. If she did not want him in that way, she could surely not also turn away his friendship. Although it might be difficult at first to reign in his affection for her, he would be satisfied with simple companionship. As long as he could be  _near_  her, help her, protect her... he could ask for nothing more.

He set the towel aside, and her eyes flicked back up to his. "Oh?"

But then she seemed to lose herself, stumbling over her words, and fumbling with her meaning. "I... Well... I said that... and I meant..." Thane blinked slowly and hummed his confusion, and she gave him a nervous little smile. "Sorry, I'm usually far more coherent than this." Her little hands spun the apple around, nails nicking the skin and letting loose the fresh, sweet scent of fruit in the air.

He stared at her hands now, at the rotating fruit. "Whatever you have to say, know that I will support you in any decision you make." Even if it were what he feared, even if it were to raise walls between them rather than tear them down. He could do nothing more than what his siha wished.

She made a frustrated little sound, and he looked back up at her. Shepard worried at her lip, and Thane took a small step toward her, his need to comfort her overtaking any anxiety he had, covering her hands with his, gently loosening the poor apple from her grip and setting it aside. "You have eaten little today. That is not enough."

Her eyes caught his, and he felt himself crooning for her, her bright little eyes so very beautiful. Words, almost like a mantra, sounded in his head.  _Do_ _not_ _send_ _me_ _away,_ _please_ _do_ _not_ _send_ _me_ _away,_ _do_ _not_ _take_ _yourself_ _away_ _from_ _me_. It was almost embarrassing, how much he had to admit to himself that he  _needed_  her, if only for her company, if only for someone to talk to. He could not go back to being solitary, not when he remembered now what it was like to connect with someone, to feel that he wasn't so very, very alone.

But something tender softened her expression, and her hands, so pale, so soft, rose to his throat. His heart almost painfully skipped a beat as they hovered over him. "Thane..." And then she touched him, unbelievably soft fingers trailing along the folds of his neck, and Thane could not stop the shuddering sigh from escaping him.

And any doubts he had were gone at her gentle touch.

"Siha..." He breathed, catching her hands and stepping still closer to her, her heat overwhelming, her scent, her skin... He cradled her smooth cheek, amazed at his audacity, at hers. Touching her lips with one finger, he felt that all rational thought was leaving him, the brush of her coral mouth against his fingertips making him almost tremble with need; he was suddenly composed of pure sensation, and it was overwhelming. He felt almost drunk, and all he could think about, all he wanted, was to taste her.

And her eyes, oh  _gods_  her eyes, they looked at him with a need that he finally understood, dark with desire, and he knew his expression mirrored her own. Her lips parted, sweet breath on his face, and she tilted her face up ever so slightly to meet his kiss...

But then she tore herself away from him, stumbling back, and Thane felt everything crashing around him, a distraught trill rising from his throat. What...? What had he done wrong?

"I'm sorry..." She took another step back, and he felt frozen in place. "I have to go."

And finally he responded, reaching toward her, calling her name, but she turned and nearly ran out of the room, the door almost deafening as it closed behind her.

He didn't know how long he stood there.

Thankfully the counter was right next to him, for it provided an easy surface to lean against when he felt like his knees were going to give out underneath him. His mind, tortuously, replayed the scene over and over again, lingering over every detail, every breath, every feather touch of skin against scales, the look in her eyes, the parted, wet lips...

What had happened? What had changed? He found himself almost literally knocked off balance by her sudden rejection, pressing his hand to his chest, coughing at the sudden tightness there. Why would…

And then it hit him. He was  _dying_.

He was  _such_ _an_ _idiot_.

It was an issue that he would consider to be enough of a problem to sidestep a relationship altogether—there was simply no cause to expose one's heart to that sort of pain. It was, really, entirely expected that she should rethink her suggestion. And what dark irony in that—that for once his illness had not been in his mind, that he had not thought of it for an entire day because he had been so focused on  _her_ , on the hope and happiness she represented, only to have the very thing she distracted him from be the likely foundation of her rejection.

And that just… It wasn't  _fair_. He had been good. He had atoned. He had prayed and made the galaxy a brighter place. At first he thought that Shepard had been a way for the gods to save him, to almost reward him with a small spot of happiness. But now he saw that couldn't be the case at all. His feelings for her, her rejection, it was a  _punishment_. A brief reminder of everything that he could have had only to have it ripped away from him with an admonishment that he should never have expected anything like that in the first place.

And chasing those thoughts were all of the insecurities that he had dismissed earlier this morning—now back with full force and the weight of his reality cementing them in his head.

He had gotten it all wrong. That was the only explanation. If she had ever actually meant any of it in the first place—the 'more than friends', the touch, the look in her eyes—it meant nothing. For now... now she would want nothing to do with him—her hasty retreat was evidence enough for that—and he would be  _alone_ , but worse than that, than all of that, was that she must find him...

She must  _despise_  him.

And that, more than anything, hurt. It was one thing to be sent away, to be removed because of his horrifyingly huge blunder, but... to know that she was out there, thinking ill of him... it made him feel almost physically sick. What must she think of him? Such selfishness on his part… To have not thought of how his death would affect her, to have thought only of satisfying his own happiness… it was appalling.

" _It's the motif of my life." She whispers, her slender finger etching little channels into the table. "Loss." My heart clenches with the premonition that her words are truer than she realizes—the losses have only just begun._

How could he have put it out of his mind? How could he have thought that she would take him as her lover, when all he represented was loss and death and sorrow? She had rightfully stopped him from becoming one more in a long line of disappointments for her. She had already endured too much. Was it really worth it, for her, for him, to add another wound to her already scarred soul? Even as they were, friends, confidants, she might still feel sorrow when he crossed the sea. How much more would her pain be if they grew even closer? And he would have inflicted that upon her.

_"You yearn for the simpler days." The words just come to me, and I murmur them without thinking about what I'm saying, without thinking about what I really mean by it. "The days of family and intimacy and warmth." And the image in my head of the future I hope for her, with little fair skinned children topped with unruly red hair, is not complete without her human lover—the only one capable of giving her what she truly deserves._

And thinking now of everything that he was  _not_  caused him even more anguish. She wanted to be normal. She wanted to go back to what she had before tragedy had struck her young life. He could give her  _nothing_. He could certainly not give her anything resembling normal to a human.

He… oh gods. His self-loathing nearly left him gasping with the oppressive weight of it; he could barely stand the thought of himself, and felt that he deserved  _all_  of this... for truly had not learned  _anything_.

He thought of running after her, of falling to his knees before her and begging her forgiveness... but he just couldn't. The thought of seeing her right now, of seeing the rejection in her eyes, was unbearable. They were both... emotional right now. Tomorrow... tomorrow he would explain himself. She _must_  understand... it was all a miscommunication, all a mistake. He had thought that... but he was very, very wrong, and surely... surely she would understand.

 _Her lips are scarcely a few grains of sand away from mine, and I feel as if my entire world has narrowed to that one point_...

He shook his head, a pained hiss crawling out of him as his mind seemed to take particular delight in tormenting him. He  _had_  to get over this, had to stop thinking of her in such a way. She would not have him—why would she? Even something as simple as the strangeness in his appearance could be a facet in the undoubtedly many reasons she rejected him. He was so different from her, with his scales and his frill, and his strange colors; she must find him hideous, like a giant lizard from Earth, and he was  _stupid_  for ever thinking otherwise. So, of course, she would not have him, and he had to  _stop_  thinking about her like that. It would just make him hurt every time he saw her, which would distract him, which would make him useless on this mission. And if by some miracle she could still stand the sight of him, then all he had left to offer her was his protection. He would lay down his life for her and count it among the greatest deeds he had ever performed during his failed life.

He turned to put his rifle back in its case, cursing his trembling hands as he dropped one of the pieces back on the cloth. Thane curled his hands into fists, willing himself to  _calm_ _down_. He took a few, deep breaths, the first notes of the temple songs humming in the back of his throat, and forced muscle by muscle to relax.

He felt that wonderful, numbing stillness come over him, and he seemed to watch his body from afar as he settled his gun into the case, snapping it shut and walking out the door. The walk back to his room was a haze—Shepard must have fled to her cabin, as he did not hear or see her along the way—and as soon as the door closed behind him, he tucked the case under his cot, kicked off his shoes, and flung his jacket and vest over the chair. Dimming the lights into complete darkness, he collapsed on his bed, hoping to go to sleep immediately—he hadn't felt this drained and empty in a long time.

But as soon as he closed his eyes, memories sparked inside of his head, and he groaned aloud, knowing that this night was going to feel like an _eternity_.

* * *

 **A/N:**  This took a lot longer than I thought it was going to. It veered off into unacceptable directions, and I had to bounce it back and forth with my beta to get it right. She, as always, is just  _amazing_. Without her, this chapter could not have been written; it's as simple as that.

I hope you like the finished product! We're getting very close to the end now! I'm excited!


	14. I Can Connect Nothing with Nothing

The morning did not bring any relief.

Thane's dreams had been tortured with the memory of Shepard's rejection, and when he awoke in the morning, he felt as if he hadn't slept at all. Every time he closed his eyes, he relived the moment she tore herself away from him, that sudden absence of warmth, that shock and confusion. He had hoped that the morning might dull the pain at least a little bit, but with his mind eager to make him suffer as much as possible, he felt just as bad as **—** if not more than—the previous night.

He thought of seeing her again and felt himself tense with dread. It was easy to anticipate the worst: that she would look at him with disgust and revulsion, that she would be ashamed of him, of his selfishness, that she would tell him they could no longer work together and drop him off at the next port.

It was tempting to simply stay in his room forever. He could come out periodically, of course, to kill the things that needed killing, but then he could just come back inside, turn off the lights, and stew in his shame. He'd never have to talk to anyone; he'd never have to endure questions or comments or anything resembling such. It would be easy, he supposed, to eventually go back to a solitary state—not right away, not immediately, but with time, he could revert back to how he used to be.

But that would be childish.

It was what gave the idea the most appeal—the idea of just dealing with the situation in the most simplistic, childish way with the least amount of effort on his part. But, of course, he could not allow himself to do that, no matter how wonderful it sounded. No… today he had to seek out Shepard. He felt his frill flush hotly at the mere thought of it.

Oh Arashu…

What he would say to her, he had no idea. Actually meeting her eyes and being able to make a sound within her hearing range, or a sound at all, would be a feat in itself. He hummed to himself, drumming his fingers on his chest. He could start by saying he was sorry. That was good. A good start. He could say he was sorry, and then…

Hmm.

Then he could say that it had been a mistake, one that he hoped had not offended her too deeply. He could explain to her how much he valued her as a friend, how much he had come to depend on her… No, not depend. He did not want her to think he was relying on her too heavily. It might drive her away even further. He could leave it at valued and express a hope that they could continue to be friends and just put all of this unpleasant business behind them.

And then…

Speculation was incredibly difficult. For a large part of him wanted to know, specifically, what made her reject him. A small part, of course, wanted to remain blissfully ignorant, but Thane was too curious to pay it any mind. Was it just the fact that he was dying? That was something that he  _could_ understand, even if it depressed him a great deal. She would be taking care of herself, and that was important. Or perhaps it was because she loved Alenko. That was also something he could understand, and even support in a distant way.

So, he wanted to ask her that, but he had the feeling that doing so would be inappropriate in some way. He also wanted her to clarify… well, it had just seemed very clear to him, right before she ran away, that she  _had_  wanted him to kiss her. He had doubted himself last night, when the rejection had been immediately before him, but now… His mind dutifully replayed the scene once again… That look in her eyes, the heat of her breath… He might be somewhat ignorant of the subtle play of expression in humans, but he  _knew_  that look on her face. It had never been turned on him before, of course, but he had seen it in action. He  _knew_  what it meant. Or… he thought he did. And if she had meant it… if she had, in that moment, desired him as he desired her…

Well, then he  _really_  wanted to know what had stopped her. If it was something small… something he could fix… Then maybe…

But he had the feeling that it  _wasn't_  small, and that he could never fix it. The problem wasn't something he did; the problem was  _him_.

So he had to put that hope out of his mind. It was simply inviting more disappointment. He would never be able to taste her soft skin, to touch the pale flesh of her throat, to feel her hot breath on his scales, to…

He shook his head, sitting up in bed. He really needed to get control of himself. This was ridiculous, all the more because he was an  _adult_ , and these sorts of problems were supposed to be done with by now. It didn't matter, anyway, if he could not express his devotion to her in a physical manner. All he wanted, at this point, was to be her friend again, for her companionship in that capacity meant far more to him than anything else. Who else could he talk to? Who else could he share his thoughts with? She had done so much for him—had awakened him, had helped him save his Kolyat… he could not stand the thought that she would be lost to him now because of one, incredibly idiotic mistake. While he felt a level of physical attraction to her now, what had always meant the most to him, and what continued to endear her to him, was her sharp, clever mind. He  _enjoyed_  talking to her, enjoyed testing her wit, whether they were batting philosophy back and forth or simply trading stories about their respective lives. His connection to her went far deeper than mere physicality, and the thought that he could lose such a dear friend shook him to the core.

He could hear the start of breakfast out in the mess—and her voice. Rising out of bed, he shrugged on his vest and jacket, slipping on his shoes and steeled himself for the inevitable. He would meet her out there, ask her quietly for a moment of her time, and… and just get things back to the way they were, before he made such a horrible mess of everything.

Crewmembers already milled about in the mess; most of them were sitting down, talking good naturedly and eating, while a few—Kasumi amongst them—leaned against the counter and chatted amiably with Gardener as he served more portions to arriving staff. The thief caught his eye and shot him a smile; Thane rumbled a greeting back before he realized she couldn't hear him, so he returned her bright expression with a strained smile of his own. Thane scanned the group for Shepard, spotting her mess of bright hair at the table; she had sat next to Garrus and was picking at a plate of fruit, eyes trained on the pieces as she shuffled them around.

She looked sad.

Thane felt a sympathetic trill rise in his throat, wishing he dared comfort her in the manner most natural for him—trail his fingers down the back of her neck, despite there being no ridges to run his fingers over, and croon a low song in her ear. He would be at her side in a moment if he didn't know that it was  _him_  that was the source of her unhappiness. But, it was almost… comforting in a strange way to see her affected as well—it wasn't that he _wanted_  her to be out of sorts, but to know that he wasn't the only one in agonies was welcome. It meant that she might be just as eager to rectify this as he was. It could also mean, of course, that she would be eager to remove him from her sight—remove the source of the problem, as it were. But he had only a moment to think about how he might approach her, for as soon as he took a step toward her, her head jerked up, kelp eyes catching his with something akin to panic, and she shoved her plate aside, standing up. Garrus gave her a curious look. "Going somewhere, Commander?"

"I just remembered… yeah… I have to submit a report." She was backing out as she said the words, looking anywhere but at Thane. She brought up her omnitool with a short, jerky movement, muttered something he couldn't catch under her breath, and flew out of the room as if a gale were at her back.

And Thane watched her retreat without a sound, her hasty exit somehow overlaying fresh pain on the wounds already present. He felt as if there were some desperate, aching, hollow place inside of his chest, and it was only due to years of training that nothing showed on his face. His body moved itself to the kitchen, mechanically grabbing a plate of fruit from the counter, and marching back toward his room. Distantly, Thane was aware of Garrus giving him a sharp look, but Thane could not really care less at that moment what the turian thought. He could go play in a riptide for all Thane was concerned.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Thane slid the plate onto his table; the thought of food at the moment disgusted him, and the very smell made him feel somewhat nauseated. He perched on the edge of his bed, elbows balanced on his knees, hands clasped in front of his face, and let out a long, distressed rumble.

So she didn't want to see him.

This was something to be expected, he supposed. It was entirely reasonable that Shepard would feel awkward and uncomfortable around him and avoid him for a bit. He felt a bit of the same around her. If she needed more time to… process this, then that was certainly something he could give her. He wouldn't deny that it hurt a bit to see her backpedal away from him like his Kepral's was suddenly communicable. But it was understandable. She needed time. There was no reason to jump to the worst possible conclusion and think about how she might want to shove him out of the Normandy as soon as they made berth. No, it was better to be reasonable about this, to be calm and patient.

He let loose a hissing sigh, and hoped that she would be ready to talk in a day or so. Surely, she wouldn't need longer than that. He, meanwhile, would be waiting.

* * *

But three days passed, and Shepard was still making herself as scarce as the sun on Kahje. It would be simple to hunt her down and trap her, but if she truly did not want to see him… She was not to be found in the mess hall again, and her usual haunts—the CIC and the forward battery—were also bereft of her presence. Queries to EDI had revealed that the Commander was "too busy" and had asked to "not be disturbed." Thane didn't really understand how she was getting  _any_  work done, but he supposed she must have been going through great lengths to avoid seeing him.

And that… hurt.

Her avoidance was a slap in the face—after all of the discussions they had, after all the intimate details he had shared about his life, she could just shut him out? How was it so easy for her to remove him from her life? Perhaps the simplicity came from the fact that he hadn't meant that much to her in the first place… perhaps he had always been a mere subordinate. Perhaps he had, in his own vanity, attributed much more to their interaction than she had actually felt.

But all this was  _still_  speculation. He could not know exactly what was going on in her head unless she stopped this absurd avoidance and just  _talked_ to him about it. He wasn't exactly sure how long he should let this go on. Were all humans like this? Did all of them retreat from emotional entanglements? It was a strange, illogical contradiction in her character. She was so… courageous, strong, assertive on the battlefield, as unstoppable as the tide, but now… such timidity, such hesitance in the face of this problem. Shepard ran from no battle, but this seemed to cripple her. But just because  _she_  was being impossible about this didn't mean that he had to behave the same.

Of course, he couldn't deny that a small part of him wanted to just give up—it was obvious that she wanted nothing to do with him, so why keep pressing the matter? It would be easier to just… let it go. One could hardly force another person into a relationship that she wanted nothing to do with. Any efforts on his part would be an exercise in futility.

But the other part was far too stubborn to turn away—and could not sweep aside how very important she was to him. That part wanted to camp outside of her cabin entrance; she had to sleep sometime. He could either catch her leaving or returning, and she could hardly ignore him anymore if he was right in front of her face.

But he had the feeling that such an action would not be very well received. So… there had to be a middle ground to this problem.

He could send her a message, he supposed. It would be a way for him to unload everything he wanted to say without actually having to... say it. He could be far more articulate. Eloquent, even. However, it was the fact that it  _wasn't_  face-to-face that made him shrink back from that idea. As much as avoiding such embarrassment was appealing, he felt that such a conversation  _had_  to occur verbally—anything less felt almost... cowardly.

And so he decided that the middle ground meant simply wandering about, hoping to run into her eventually. It was a small ship. She couldn't hide forever. And talking to him was the right thing for her to do; it was almost her  _duty_  to help him remedy this issue. Her very avoidance, of course, spoke volumes—she was not handling this well. He, as well, was not exactly in top form. If they were to fight the Collectors, and then the Reapers, as best as they could, then all emotional snags had to be dealt with. She could hardly ignore that aspect of her job for much longer.

So, he set out on the fourth day to patrol the ship once again, starting on the CIC and making his way slowly down to Engineering, not bothering with any sort of excuse as he prowled about, ignoring the curious stares from the likes of Garrus and Kasumi who both seemed to promise unwelcome, intruding comments if he lingered too long.

The lift stopped on the bottom deck, and he stepped out to see Shepard's telling flash of crimson hair disappear around the corner stairs, darting down like a fish into the deep. Thane blinked, uncertain if he should be amused or annoyed with her—she was being so very ridiculous. But now, of course, he had her cornered, and he began stalking over to the stairs, determined to confront her immediately…

When he stopped.

He could hear her breathing, swift short little breaths like a trapped bird, and Thane hesitated on the threshold of the stairs, a memory shattering behind his eyes…

_The room is dark, but I can see her perfectly, chest rising and falling with each shuddering breath. She thinks she's hiding, squeezed between the armoire and the corner, and I feel a distant twinge of pity as I advance on her, screwing the silencer on the end of my pistol. I walk closer to her; her breaths trip over themselves faster and faster, and then, just before I am upon her, she springs out with a strangled cry, a last desperate effort to flee; it is a simple matter to trip her and pull her to the floor, and her life is blown over the cresting waves to the sea in two, quick shots._

It had nothing to do with the woman who hid from him now, not really.

But… with each trapped breath, Thane found himself more hesitant to approach her. He leaned against the railing and closed his eyes, letting out a long, rumbling sigh. He knew she could hear him, knew that she knew he was there. Why did she hide from him? What was so very, very wrong with him? He fancied he could feel her warmth; she was so close, and yet completely inaccessible. What would it be like if he went down there? His imagination immediately supplied him with some romantic vision, wherein they would stammer apologies to each other and end up tangled in an embrace; it would be like a cliched holovid, and unlike those vids, it would be immensely satisfying.

But, more likely was that she would either mutter some sort of excuse and run away or tell him bluntly that she couldn't stand to look at him anymore, and she was terminating his contract. And with each moment that he stood there, listening to her try to be silent and unnoticed, he became more convinced that to confront her now would be extremely detrimental. It seemed, on the surface, that forcing a conversation was the most direct path to resolve this, but… perhaps it was his own hesitance, his own cowardice at the moment that he might see her again that deterred him. However, he also thought that to force Shepard to do something before she was ready could only backfire.

So, he turned away.

The lift carried him back up, and he decided that he would leave off his search for her. Let her come to him when she was ready, as was his original plan. Until then, he could bury himself in his work, cleaning all of his guns until they shined enough to almost be a detriment on the field, and reading all the journals, despite how boring some of them were. He also could plan a trip to the Citadel to see Kolyat—he had been hesitating on that mainly because he was nervous. It was a lot easier to speak through messages. To actually  _see_  his son, face-to-face, was something that made him feel no small amount of anxiety. But he had promised, and Thane would not fail to keep his word.

Yes, he had many things with which to keep himself busy. Shepard could take as long as she wanted; he would not be idle while he waited.

* * *

And so another day passed, and Shepard still made herself scarce. Thane had been far more productive than he thought he would be, having already cleaned his guns, caught up on his reading,  _and_  settled with Kolyat for a date when he could visit. He was too efficient for his own good, it seemed, for he found himself idle once more after dinner was concluded. He lingered by the counter in the mess, trying to think of what to do, and busied himself washing dishes until Gardner shooed him out.

So, Thane found himself trudging back to his room, thinking that he might as well take one of his pistols apart (for that was at least entertaining, even if it wasn't particularly productive), when Kasumi suddenly shimmered into view before him, making him start with surprise.

"Hi Thane." She said, as if what she did was entirely normal.

"Hello." He rumbled, blinking at her. Had she been waiting for him? Following him? Both thoughts were irritating.

"I have this tea from Earth." She smiled charmingly at him. "It's really good. White tea, have you had it? With peaches. I was going to brew some; want to join me?"

Any other time Thane would have been more than happy to join her, and he might even be a bit touched that she thought of him to share her tea with. But not now. Now Kasumi's painted lips promised some sort of invasive questioning, and Thane  _really_  wanted to avoid that. "That is kind of you to offer. But no, thank you."

He moved to go around her, but she shifted, blocking him. "Are you sure? It's really,  _really_  good."

His voice held a roughened hiss, a prelude to a foul mood, and normally he would have tried to suppress it, but now he let it overlay his response. He was just not in the right frame of mind to deal with gossip at the moment. "I am sure it is, and that you will enjoy it very well without me." He stepped around her before she could reply, well aware that his face betrayed every bit of his annoyance, and not caring in the slightest.

He was operating under the assumption that she would balk at pushing this further when she saw how thoroughly dark his mood was becoming, but apparently she did not have as good of a sense of survival as he thought she did. "Wait, Thane." She turned around and slipped in front of him again. "Look. I just want to talk. Can we talk for a bit? You don't have to drink the tea, although I think you'll want to once you smell it! But, please, can we just… talk about something for a moment?"

Thane took a breath, fully preparing to tell Kasumi that there was nothing under the gaze of the gods that could make him want to talk at that moment, but then he remembered…  _Her_ _voice_ _is_ _quiet,_ _hesitant._ _"I_ _remembered_ _what_ _you_ _said_ _about_ _getting_ _lost_ _in_ _memories._ _And_ _I_ _wondered_ _if_ _I_ _had_ _made_ _a_ _mistake._ _"_ _I_ _take_ _her_ _hands_ _in_ _mine;_ _they_ _are_ _small,_ _slender,_ _soft._  Even though Shepard wanted nothing to do with him at the moment, he had still promised her that he would talk to Kasumi. He should… at least ask what the thief needed. Perhaps she even  _wanted_  to talk about the gray box, although that was unlikely. "What did you want to talk about?"

She took his minor concession as a major victory, if her grin was any indication. "You, actually."

His eyes narrowed—he didn't like the way this was going. "What about me?"

"Do you really want to start this in the hall?" She looked past him at the miscellaneous crew members milling about in the mess. "We'll have more privacy in my room."

He could just say no. The most obvious thing she would want to prod him into talking about would be about him and Shepard. She was enough of a gossip that he supposed she could hardly wait to pry into his innermost secrets so that she might be able to spread them about as a commodity for all like-minded persons. However… she might also want to talk about… Oh, Oceans, honestly, that was as likely as Shepard suddenly coming out of the elevator and asking  _him_  to tea.

He frowned at her, but she smiled brightly, and while his first inclination was to say no and leave her in the hall, he also knew that if it was gossip she sought, she would not be satisfied until she interviewed him, and he would have to fend off many more attempts to get him to spill his secrets. If he gave in now, drank her tea, and avoided telling her anything like he did before, then she might decide to just leave him alone altogether.

So he heaved a sigh and mumbled his assent. She burbled her gratitude and turned to lead the way to her room, Thane slumping after her.

An iron teapot and two small cups were already laid out. Steam curled from hard gray, and Thane was further piqued by the idea that she had been anticipating his assent with every confidence in the world.

Thane stood in the room as she readied the tea—he had to admit that it  _did_  smell good—and when she motioned for him to take a seat, he did so, perching on the edge of the cushion.

She handed him his cup and smiled at his murmured thanks. "So, Thane. How are you doing?"

Thane looked up at her, narrowing his eyes—her innocent beginnings did not belie what he knew to be her intent. "I am well. And you?"

She folded herself up on the couch, her slim legs tucked underneath her. She cradled the cup in her hands, and he was struck by how small she looked, almost like a child. Such a slight frame must be useful for one such as her, and for in his profession as well. Rayna had a similar build, and she had always been able to infiltrate places with far greater ease than he. He had the advantage of strength, but those like Rayna and Kasumi had the advantage of size. The thief would have made a fine assassin, had she biotics.

Her words drew his attention back to her apparent purpose for bringing him here. "Fine, but we're not here to talk about me. You, Sere, have been moping around the ship like someone ran over your puppy." Thane blinked at her, and she tried again. "Like someone flushed your fish?" When he continued to stare blankly at her (apparently she was trying to make a joke), she waved a dismissive hand. "Or whatever pets you keep on Kahje."

Thane shook his head at her. "I know what you are trying to do. You are trying to satisfy your perverse need for gossip by pestering me." He fixed her with a hard glare. "It will not work. That being said, do you want me to stay so we can go through the motions? Or would you prefer that we skip to the end, and I will leave?"

He thought that she would be irritated—he rather hoped that she would, for he  _wanted_  to provoke her into throwing him out, but instead she threw back her hood and fixed him with concerned dark eyes. "Thane, this isn't like last time, where it was kind of funny. This is serious. And it's not just you. Shep has had a black cloud following her around too. Her old crew, Garrus and Tali especially, are concerned. And out of all of us, I was nominated as the one most likely to be able to get you to at least acknowledge something was going on and not  _completely_  stonewall me." She gave him a weak little grin. "So… what's going on? How can we help? This has to be fixed somehow."

Thane leaned back into the couch. The current dilemma, of course, was whether he should be irritated or entertained at the thought of the crew forming a committee on him and Shepard. He wondered how they came to the conclusion that Kasumi would be the best candidate. He wasn't particularly close to her. "I appreciate the concern, but it is unnecessary."

She frowned at him now. "How can you say that? It's been  _days_. It's obvious that nothing is progressing. And you can't just allow this to fester."

He matched her expression—he did not appreciate the implication that it was somehow only  _his_  responsibility. It took two people to have a conversation, after all. "It is not only my choice. Shepard has made her desires plain. She does not want to speak to me."

The confusion in her voice colored the air; he could feel it trip along his scales. " _Why_?"

Thane sighed. "An excellent question. If I knew the answer to it, I would have remedied the situation already."

She shook her head at him, black hair feathering the air. "You're both being stubborn. Just talk to her already."

And that, perhaps, irritated him the most. He was not being 'stubborn.' If anything, it was Shepard who was doing so. "Do you think that  _I_  have been avoiding  _her_? It is the other way around. I have sought her out; I have tried to talk to her. She runs—literally—away."

Her brows knitted together, betraying her confusion. "What did you do to make her act like this?"

Thane gave a pained hiss. He would have been annoyed by her implication that this was his fault if it actually hadn't  _been_  his fault. Still, he hesitated in telling her. It was none of her business, truly. Yet, part of him wanted to share. It would be nice to have a perspective on the situation that wasn't purely his own. He was rather tired of his mind's pale offerings on the issue. "I… misinterpreted something. It was foolish. I have displayed ignorance before with other species, but never to this scale. And never have I paid so dearly." It was still cryptic, but it was all he felt comfortable in divulging.

Kasumi was silent for a moment, worrying at her lower lip. The moment dragged on long enough that Thane's attention started to drift from her, focusing more on the tea in his hand, which  _was_  rather good, when she suddenly surprised him with, "I don't think you misinterpreted it."

 _That_  made him straighten up and pay attention, steadying his hands just in time to prevent the tea from sloshing from the cup. "What?"

She blinked dark eyes at him and licked her lips. "I'm not going to ask you for details. But I can guess at what might have happened between you two. The way she acted before you took her to Illium, the morning after when you two were talking in the mess… It was so painfully obvious, really. I could see how you felt about her, just as I could see how she felt about you. I'm not sure what her issue is now—Garrus would probably know more about that. But I do know that it's not hopeless."

Kasumi's words raced around Thane's head. So he was right: he  _hadn't_  imagined her affection for him. And who would know Shepard's expressions and body language better than another human? Especially another human who seemed to pride herself on her ability at reading other people? But, curiosity could not prevent him from questioning her further on one point. "And how exactly was I that obvious?"

Her smile was secretive, and she winked at him. He would have thought she had something in her eye if he hadn't remembered that it meant she was trying to make something funny. "I may or may not have... liberated a hanar sculpture several years back. Before that happened, I studied drell mannerisms. Hanar moods are impossible to determine unless I have that eye surgery, but drell are easy to read once you get the crash course, and that information came in handy when I had to get access to the gallery. But, to the point: your throat was flushed. And I bet if I had your ears, you would have been crooning deep enough to woo the hearts of thousands of drell women."

Thane felt his throat flush  _then_ , and lowered his eyes. He regretted asking her now—he felt like such a  _child_  to betray his thoughts so easily. He counted himself fortunate that it was likely that only Kasumi knew enough about his people to be able to accurately gauge his expressions. But, as much as she embarrassed him, he also felt a bit more comfortable around her now—she could actually  _read_  his expressions; it would be almost like having a conversation with one of his own kind, something that he did not get to do very often.

So, he found himself letting go a bit more, sharing more with her than he had intended in the beginning. "I… I want to remove this awkwardness, this unhappiness between Shepard and me. But I fear that this will be impossible if she refuses to see me."

She nodded sympathetically. "I think you're going to have to just force the situation, really. This has gone on for too long."

Thane took a drink of his tea and blinked slowly, a tentative rumble edging his words. "I thought that I was going to do that yesterday." The memory of Shepard's shallow breaths flickered behind his eyes. "But… I do not feel… comfortable forcing her. If she does not want to see me, then I feel I must respect her wishes."

She stretched out one leg along the couch, pulling the other one up to her chest. "In any other situation, I could understand that. But this isn't going to work here. You're going to have to patch this up, or you and I both know it's going to affect our work."

Thane hummed his agreement. "I know. This is one of my main concerns."

She shrugged expressively. "So, go talk to her."

Ah, if only it were that easy. "Yes… I suppose."

"Good." She grinned. "I'm glad we talked. I'm honestly not sure what she'll do  _when_  you talk to her, but feel free to come vent to me after you do."

Thane smiled and got up, thanking her for the tea. He tempted by the offer, but knew that he would probably keep either his victory or failure secret. However his smile faltered when he saw her reaching for the small object on her table. Shepard's request flashed behind his eyes once again, and he felt that this was a better opening than he was likely to ever get. It was still an awkward subject to bring up, but he felt marginally better about it now that she had taken the first step to talk to  _him_  about personal things. Talking to her about intimate subjects was now not  _as_  strange. "What is that, if you do not mind me asking?"

Kasumi's face held an emotion he could not quite identify. "Shep didn't tell you?" But he could tell from the tone of her voice that she already knew the answer and was a bit disappointed at his clumsy approach to the topic.

So he decided to be truthful. "It is your memory box, correct? Yes, Shepard did tell me."

And now Thane recognized her expression: stubbornness. "Kelly already tried to lecture me on getting rid of it. I'm not doing it."

Thane rumbled, settling back down in the couch. "I am not going to suggest that you get rid of it. I am drell; I know the importance of memories."

Her face softened, and she traced her fingers along the edge of the box almost lovingly. "I… I thought you might understand. I know about…" She paused, eyes flicking up to him before dropping them down again to stare at the box. "I just know that you have memories you need to keep too."

Thane was quiet for a moment, images of skin and song and breath sparking in his head. "Yes. Memories of happier times, simpler times. Times when I believed that nothing would change, and we would always… be together."

"Exactly." Kasumi nodded, focusing on Thane, leaning toward him. "How many people get to retain all of those moments in their original clarity? I mean, it must be normal to your people, but it's not for mine. This is… more than I could have ever hoped for. I will  _never_  forget him."

Thane hummed sadly at her. She held such pain in herself, far more than he had realized, hiding it all behind easy smiles and clever jokes. "You are right; it is normal for me. I would spend many nights adrift in a sea of memories, disconnected, aimless. It is… easy to lose oneself."

Kasumi looked at him sharply. "I can handle it."

"I do not doubt that." The edges of his words fuzzed with a low croon. In truth, he was not sure if she would be able to. He had felt the pull all too often to live in memory, and members of his race had wasted away, lost in recollection. It would take someone extraordinarily strong-willed to resist such temptation, especially amongst a race that was not familiar with such things. Thane would keep her in his gaze; he would follow and fulfill Shepard's request. Kasumi would not fall to memory without intervention on his part. But such things must be dealt with slowly, carefully. So, for now, he settled with tentative overtures. "But know there is no shame in finding that you cannot. If you ever need someone to… talk to… I will always make myself available to you."

She blinked brown eyes at him, tucking a flyaway strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Thanks. I mean that. I know you're not the socializing type. So… that means a lot. I can…" She paused, seemingly rethinking what she was going to say, and gave him a small smile. "The same goes for you, too, you know. You're not alone on this ship, and Shepard isn't the only one you can talk to. I know you think I'm a gossip, but I  _can_  be trusted. I'll never betray your confidence."

Thane returned her smile, standing up again. Her extension of friendship was... touching. He was forced to confess to himself that perhaps the others hadn't been so far off after all in picking Kasumi to talk to him. She disarmed him with amiable ease, and he found himself relatively comfortable with that. "Have a pleasant day, Ms. Goto."

"Kasumi." She grinned up at him. "And you too."

And so, he intended on finding Shepard the very next day, and in the morning, he made plans to hunt her down and finally force this confrontation, even though it did make him feel a bit uneasy,  _still_ , to use force in this.

But before that (and he tried earnestly to convince himself that it  _wasn't_  a delaying tactic), he had to make a quick run to the armory. A little shake of his bottle of gun oil had revealed that it was nearly empty; as such, he was going to brave Taylor's irritation and swipe a bottle from the well-stocked Normandy stores. Thane rocked back and forth on his heels as he waited for the lift to arrive. His mind was worrying itself over how he would placate Taylor from taking from the man's stocks, when the doors opened and…

There she was.

Thane couldn't help being startled—nearly a week of trying to see her and failing, and suddenly she presented herself, as wide-eyed and shocked as he was. His frill was dark and hot with anxiety, and for a long, awful moment he didn't quite know what to do. Her face was a translucent shell, her pink tongue nervously darting out to wet her coral lips, a wisp of hair dipping low on her forehead, and even though her expression didn't exactly suggest that she was happy to see him, he couldn't help being happy to see  _her_. He felt the keen absence of her, and wished more than anything that they could just go to the mess and have tea together and talk and put all of this behind them.

After a few seconds (although it seemed an eternity longer), it became apparent that she was not going to exit, and the doors began to close without either of them saying a word.

That would not do.

He could not let this opportunity pass him by. She must still want to avoid him; he could not let that happen anymore. Yes, it would be uncomfortable. Yes, he would probably be even unhappier than he currently was. But he had no choice, not really.

He slipped between the doors just as they sealed shut, and then they were alone together with only the hum of the machines and their own staccato heartbeats to break the silence. She looked at him with shining kelp eyes, and he found himself feeling almost overwhelmed by  _her_ , wishing he could rest his hand along her smooth neck, press his forehead against hers, and hum into the hollow of her throat. He had thought that getting  _Irikah_  to listen to him had been hard, but at least they had shared the same body language, the same expressions, the same culture. Instead of doing what seemed natural to him, he held himself aloft, a distant rumble deep in his chest adding to their thudding heartbeats.

He took a deep breath, and stopped the lift between floors.

* * *

 **A/N:**  Sorry for the delay on this one too. That seems to be all that I say now in these author notes... Anyway, I hope it was worth the wait!


	15. Death by Water

" _I've been there before." Her bright eyes meet mine briefly before dropping back down to the floor. "It ends badly. And I..." She hesitates, voice dipping lower, and despite the keen sting of rejection that makes my heart feel as if it is_ dying _, I want to reach out to her, touch her, comfort her. "...I don't want the same to happen to you."_

He had handled it as gracefully as he could manage. He had murmured a few more words to her, something about no harm being done and that he understood—the appropriate words to say in a situation like that—and then he had left, unable to muster much more of a social front, wanting only to get out of the lift as soon as he possibly could.

Except it had left him on the CIC deck, and he had no idea where to go or what to do with himself. Oh, he had planned on talking to Taylor to see if there was any way the operative could let him take a bottle of gun oil, but he doubted that Amonkira Himself could be unaffected after such a painfully intense scene. So he loitered awkwardly around the lift entrance until he was sure that Shepard had arrived at her cabin before calling it back down again, and in short order he was holed up in his room once more, safe from prying eyes and intrusive words.

The metal of his seat was unusually cold, and he shifted around, trying to get comfortable before giving up with a frustrated rumble and moving instead to his bed, sitting cross-legged in the middle, leaning his back up against the wall. He rested his hands lightly on his knees and tried to make some sense of the situation.

So... any hope of a romantic relationship with Shepard was definitely out of the question.

He could accept that. It had been tortuous, before, when he didn't know what was happening, what was  _going_  to happen, why it was happening, and a whole host of other questions. But now, at least, he had a bit of... closure.

Thane still felt awful, to be sure. He felt terrible and lonely and harbored a hefty amount of self-pity. But... that had to stop. Shepard felt awful too, after all; he could see it in her eyes, the way she held herself, the way her voice caught...  _I start to reach out for her, a sympathetic hum rippling through my chest, but I stop. It is not my place. And so I fight down the urge to croon soothingly into her ear, pet the soft skin along the back of her neck, and instead withdraw into myself. She cannot take her comfort from me. Not now._  But they were both adults. They were both professionals. And if he was going to serve her, to give her the support that a siha needed and deserved, then he had to get past this.

So, how to do that?

Her words, " _it_ _ends_ _badly,_ _"_  echoed through his mind. She was right. It would. No matter what he did, no matter what relationship they had, no matter how she felt about him, he would still die. And soon. He was suddenly very aware of the heaviness of his lungs, the edge of tightness that was always there but that he successfully ignored except for times like now, when he was forced to acknowledge it. But... regardless of what obstacles his impending demise set up, there was comfort in the hint that she did  _not_  seem to think that was an inherent problem.  _"_ _I've_ _been_ _there_ _before_." As crushing as her words were, they still suggested that his illness was not the root of the issue. She had, by her own admission, been only really, intimately involved with one man—Alenko. And he was not dying. How could she compare the two of them if Thane's death was really a deterrent?

No, far more likely was the idea that she compared the two of them because she feared the same lack of support and ultimate rejection that she had received at the hands of her human lover. Alenko had abandoned her when she needed him the most, and she feared giving her heart to another and having the same thing happen. So his illness, his death, were not the reasons she rejected him, and that, more than anything, was a comfort to Thane. He had thought himself unworthy of love, unworthy of even being considered in another's thoughts, broken and sick as he was. But, that was not it. She did not turn him away because of that. It was not his fault.

In fact, it seemed as though her unsuccessful relationship with Alenko was the source of all of this, and, if he wanted to play the therapist, probably the loss of her family, friends, and everyone else that she had cared for as well. She most likely feared that Thane, too, would leave her, whether it be ultimately because he died or simply because that is what people did to Shepard—leave. He thought on her relationships with her crewmates—he had noted that even ones she obviously cared for, such as Garrus and Tali, she had kept at an arm's length. She could not be hurt again, she must have reasoned (consciously or no), if she did not let anyone close to her heart.

And this he could understand.

Irikah was, after all, by no means the only one he had loved and lost. He, too, knew what it was like to lose one's family—not as violently as Shepard, of course, but it was still a source of pain to think on how his mother and father, his brothers, had never sought him out, had never come asking about him, had never even  _written_. Their abandonment was plain enough, and when he had finally finished his training, he had moved on from them as well, not wanting to burden them with the reappearance of a son they had long put out of their minds.

He had also lost friends—his own student that he had mentored met an untimely end, and Rayna had spent many days trying to convince Thane that it wasn't his fault, that there was no amount of training that could prevent these things from sometimes just  _happening_. And fellow students, as well, had sometimes never come home, their empty beds a constant trigger for bittersweet memories.

So Thane knew what it was like to love people and then lose them, whether to death or abandonment. He wished he dared share these memories with her, tell her how he understood. And, more than that, share the lessons he had learned, how even though they might lose those they cared about, they could not live forever in battle sleep.

It was a hypocritical lesson to share, honestly. He would have gone to the sea still disconnected from himself if not for his siha. But he wanted to tell her that it was  _she_  that had taught him this. That after the greatest pain he had ever lived through, after convincing himself that his only worth lay in killing, in hunting, she could show him that he had  _so_  much more to offer. And she did as well—as she moved through her own kind of battle sleep, afraid to connect, afraid to open herself up to theoretical pain, she was ignoring the strength that one could receive from affection, from friends.

This was a delicate lesson to impart, though, because he had the feeling that Shepard still didn't want too much to do with him. He did not blame her. Things were awkward and painful. But, as his lungs constantly reminded him, he did not have much time. He would have to move more quickly than he would like in order to impress this upon her before he left for the sea. She might listen to him; she might not. But he had to at least  _try_. He would not ask her to seek that companionship in him if that was not her wish. But in the coming battle—for if Shepard was right, the Collectors were hardly the biggest threat—she would need all of the support she could find... and likely, that support could not come from him.

And that... that  _pained_  him. The thought of leaving her behind in the middle of her struggles was a terrible one. He  _had_  to make sure she would allow someone to look after her when he... couldn't. Someone she could confide in, someone to share her burdens.

His mind drifted back to the picture of Alenko on her desk. That person might be her old human lover, even though it seemed to Thane that Shepard didn't quite feel the same for the human as she had before. But while absence might dull affection, surely they would meet again, perhaps under less trying circumstances, and the connection might flare up as strong as it had been. But, then, Shepard might consider that she had been hurt far too many times to let Alenko close again, shutting herself off even further.

So... what to do?

He would just have to think on it. Answers were unlikely to just drop in his lap; they usually came to him in the form of sudden epiphanies, his mind suddenly presenting him with the solution it had been working on all the while in the back of his thoughts. Irikah had always laughed when she saw the answer begin to dawn on his face—she had said that she could always tell when he was about to catch her by the wrist and babble for the next ten minutes about how it was so  _simple_  and why hadn't he seen it before? He smiled at the memory, the feel of her small wrist in his fingers. So, yes, the solution would come soon enough.

Until then, though, he decided that he would give Shepard her space. She needed it; that much was clear. And he had other matters to attend to anyway—he was to visit Kolyat when they docked at the Citadel in the next two days, and there was certainly a fair amount of mental preparation to go along with that.

He straightened away from the wall, arching his back and sighing when he felt a few satisfying pops, unfolding his legs and letting them dangle over the edge. The pain was still there, the thought that he could never hold his siha in his arms, nuzzle the sweet skin of her throat, taste the delicate flesh of her wrist. But, this was not about him, and he was not the center of things. Shepard was his focus, and so he would remain her companion in whatever capacity she would have him.

And that would just have to be enough.

* * *

He thought that the next two days might drag on, but before he knew it they were at the Citadel, and Thane was laying out his civilian clothes on his bed, readying himself for his visit with Kolyat. It wouldn't do, after all, to show up in his work attire—Kolyat likely had too many bad memories associated with that. No, it was better to wear something unconnected with killing.

The dark tunic was creased at the folds from months of disuse. He smoothed it out, tracing the somber gray edges and straightening the hem. The cloth felt unfamiliar compared to his usual leather, and Thane wondered how naked he would feel moving about amongst the Citadel crowds in such relaxed attire. The trousers were much the same—charcoal, much softer than the ones he currently wore, and loose, the cuffs at the bottom made to go  _over_  his shoes and not tucked into them. It held the same creases, and Thane wished he had thought to try to iron them out first, or at least hang them to let the wrinkles try to come out on their own. As it was, he picked up the tunic and shook it out with a few quick snaps of his wrists, doing the same with the trousers, and finally just accepting the fact that the creases would exist.

It felt strange to unbuckle his jacket and trousers and slip out of his vest in favor of such loose clothing. But he had to admit as he slid the trousers up and fastened them along his hips that they were rather comfortable. He would never want to fight in them—not seriously, at least—but at least he hadn't gained enough weight to make them snug. He remembered the last time that had happened...  _She clearly doesn't understand my distress, laughing hysterically as she is, almost crying with mirth, as I struggle to fasten the trousers around my waist. "It's your fault." I snarl. "All those_ dinners _at your parents' that you force me to go to_." _Her only response is an unrepentant shriek of laughter as she tumbles backward on the bed, and I cannot help but start to laugh as well, making it even more impossible to fasten the clasp._

He had adhered very strictly to his diet and exercise routine after that.

And as he pulled the tunic over his head and smoothed it down his front, he had to admit that he still looked fairly good in it. The cut might not be  _as_ fashionable as it was when he bought it years ago, but it was still classic enough that it worked—he would not embarrass his son  _too_  much. And the tunic was long enough that he could attach a holster on the back of his trousers underneath it—it was never wise to go unarmed. He tried not to think about how disastrous this visit could be and instead focused on the idea that embarrassing his son with unfashionable clothes might be his _biggest_  worry. It was much simpler and less nerve-wracking to minimize the threat in that way.

The ship was empty as he left his room, which he was thankful for. Most of the crew was already aboard the Citadel, barring those who chose to stay behind for whatever reason. Usually he would be amongst them. He made his way to the exit hatch when he heard quick steps struggle to catch up with him.

"Thane!" Kasumi's smiling voice fell into step beside him.

"Kasumi." He nodded a greeting, slowing his pace a bit. "I would have thought you would have already left."

"I was... preparing a few things." He glanced over at her, and she smiled mysteriously, tugging down her hood a bit more.

Thane favored her with a stern expression, even though he knew she would not be the least bit deterred by it. "Do try to not to get into much trouble."

Her laugh was light like bells. "But that's no fun."

The hatch hissed open before them, and they stepped out. The lights from the arms glittered above them, and the ever-present hum of the shuttles droned overhead, the tiny sparks from their headlights creating long, twinkling trails across the violet sky. Thane, even after all of his travels, was still humbled by the sheer  _size_  of the Citadel, his mind completely baffled when he tried to imagine the number of people the station held. He supposed that, no matter where he went and what society he moved through, he would always retain that sense of smallness, of overwhelming humility when faced with the magnitude of galactic society. It was one that most of his species shared—they were so new to galactic politics, after all, and the marvels of the galaxy were still enough of a novelty that the more conscientious of them remained aware of the simple luck their species had in being rescued by an advanced species just as they had been ready to tear themselves apart.

Thane tried to make out Kolyat's ward amidst the sparkling arms before giving up—it was simply too big. Kasumi caught him staring and stepped in front of him. "What are you up to?"

He hummed at her. "I am going to visit my son."

Her smile was secret, knowing. "Is that the reason for the change of clothes?"

Thane tugged at the hem of his tunic a little self consciously. "Yes. There are a few creases..." He tried smoothing them again. "I should have prepared it earlier..."

Kasumi batted away his hands, brushing at his shoulders and adjusting his collar. "Nonsense, you look great! You can't even see them."

Thane gave her a small smile, grateful for her attention. It was almost amusing how close they had become over the past several weeks—he could very nearly consider the thief a friend. She was easy in her friendship, forging relationships with just about everyone aboard the ship in short order. Even Jack had trouble rejecting Kasumi's cheerful overtures. "Thank you."

Her smile was one that could not be repressed, and she gave him a final pat-down, reminding him a bit of his mother before she sent him outside to play. Adjust the cloth over his shoulder, tug at his hem, brush at imaginary dust, and then spin him around and push him gently out of the front door with a kiss and an admonition to play nice with the neighbors. The thought of Kasumi doing the same to send him after Kolyat was nearly enough to make him laugh.

Once she had satisfactorily groomed him, she turned and started walking toward the lift at the end of the ramp. "Mind if we share the lift down?"

He fell into step beside her. "Not at all."

And so they stood shoulder-to-shoulder during the long ride down to C-Sec—a lift experience that always seemed to take a small eternity.

The silence was comfortable for a few moments, but Thane knew it wouldn't be quiet for long. And, as he expected, Kasumi started the conversation with, "So you and Shepard must have talked?"

Thane felt the corners of his lips tug up ever so slightly. She could never stop herself. "Yes, we did."

He could feel her dark eyes on him, but he kept his gaze trained ahead, and clasped his hands behind his back, determined to make her work for any information she gleaned from the conversation. "You don't seem all that bothered by what happened."

He hummed and shrugged—a human gesture that he found quite useful at times. "Why would I be? I wish only to serve her."

"Oh." She said in a tone of voice that clearly suggested that she didn't believe him. "She, at least, isn't moping around any more."

"No, she does not seem to be." And indeed, Shepard had thrown herself into her work with a zeal that he had never seen before. He was happy that she was at least not hiding in Jack's hold anymore, but the single-mindedness with which she pursued her tasks was almost intimidating. She was fierce in her adherence to duty, and he would wish to attribute it to a sort of mental avoidance, if he were inclined to try to analyze her behavior (more than he usually did, of course).

"But you two are still friends?" Kasumi persisted, shifting ever so slightly to look at him more fully. He could feel her eyes alert to any change in his body language.  _She_  could also be intimidating—he could not rely on the almost universal ignorance of his species' body language with her, and sometimes that was irritating.

He kept his voice level, measured. "I am not sure. We are civil, at least. She seems to need more time. I am giving that to her."

Her painted lips turned down into a frown. "You sure you aren't doing that because you're too nervous to try to rekindle the relationship?"

Thane shot her an annoyed look. "Shepard has made her wishes clear. She explained them to me, and I understand why she does not wish to pursue what we started. I will respect that."

Kasumi shrugged. "All right, whatever you say. I just want the two of you to be happy—and you seemed happiest when you were with each other, even if it was just talking over tea."

He let loose an annoyed rumble, making sure to pitch it high enough so that she could hear it; her toothy grin indicated that he succeeded. "And exactly how much spying did you engage in to arrive at that conclusion?"

"Details, details." She waved a dismissive hand. "They're not important. What's important is that you two start being happy again. I'm going to make sure that happens."

He shook his head, wondering why she couldn't take up other hobbies. "I wish you all the luck in the world. I have been informed by several reliable sources, though, that I am incurably morose."

She shrugged, bringing her hand up to examine her nails. "I am always up for a challenge. And hey, aren't we supposed to specialize in the impossible?"

Thane gave a half-exasperated trill. "Always so prying, Kasumi. I suppose, though, that it goes along rather well with your profession."

"Don't sell yourself short." She grabbed his hand, holding it up to peer at his fingers. "Look at these hands. You can't tell me you haven't used these lithe little fingers to lift things in the past."

He took his hand back, bringing both together to tap his middle fingers. "They are better suited for killing than stealing, I assure you. Although, to be honest, yes, I have had to steal things in the past—itineraries, security plans, and what have you."

"See? You can't judge me too harshly, then."

He blinked slowly at her. "Stealing itself is not morally wrong, Kasumi. The motive one has when doing so determines its ethical standing."

"Yeah, so tell me which is worse." She put her hands on her hips, radiating challenge. "Stealing for profit or pleasure or stealing in order to take someone's life?"

Thane hummed. "A convincing argument." It was. If he had the energy he might take it further, but as it was, he was still too consumed with the anxiety of meeting Kolyat and didn't feel like he could spare it. Maybe later over tea he would challenge her again. "Perhaps we are both corrupt." He conceded for the time being.

"A compromise: I like it." She grinned at him.

The lift finally came to a stop, and the doors slid open. "Listen, when you're done visiting Kolyat, you should come find me. I'll probably be at that cafe on the Presidium, the one with all of the blue flowers out front; do you know it?" At Thane's nod, she continued. "You should meet me there for some tea and a snack."

Thane nodded, almost surprised at the readiness with which he assented to another social obligation. Irikah would be proud of him. "I will message you when I am done to see if you are still there."

"Great! Good luck." She made that weird human gesture where she showed him her thumb, both thumbs this time. She must have really meant it.

He reached forward, tugged down her hood a bit more, unable to resist one last jab. "I wish the same luck to you, Kasumi. Stay safe. I would not want to have to cut my visit short to save you."

She laughed, batting his hand gently away. "Oh, Sere Krios, you wear that arrogance like a custom made suit. It's a good thing you balance it out with charm."

And with that they separated, each going in their own directions—Kasumi to steal whatever it was that she had her eye on, and Thane to face his sullen teenage son. He was not sure which of them had it worse. Kasumi would face guns; Thane would face the verbal daggers Kolyat would fling at him.

He thought on the whole that he would rather face guns.

But he was not, so he made his way to the restaurant that Kolyat said they could meet at, threading his way through the crowd with an indifferent ease. He remembered when the Master had ordered Rayna to take him out to teach him the art of walking through a crowd as though swimming through calm waters...  _She walks ahead of me with a grace and silence that leaves me in awe; the crowd seems to unknowingly part before her like the spray at the stern of a ship, and I am left swirling in the eddies of her wake, bumping into nearly everyone who comes near me, earning every dirty stare one can imagine_. Now, of course, he slipped through them as though they were not there at all, and in short order, he arrived at the eatery.

It was a small place, simple and strangely elegant. It was, honestly, not something that he had expected Kolyat to choose. He wasn't sure what he would have thought his son would prefer, but it wasn't this, something so adult, so mature, so sophisticated. Thane had to stop thinking of Kolyat as a child—he had clearly grown much since Thane left him on Kahje.

Thane walked inside, admiring the warm furniture and quiet music coloring the air with soft lavender, and, after waving away a salarian waiter, spotted Kolyat in a corner seat, fidgeting with his omnitool. The boy was dressed in a C-Sec uniform, the dark blues complementing his own muted cerulean scales, and Thane paused for a moment to just take in the image—so tall, so mature, so perfect.

But then Kolyat caught his eyes, and Thane started walking forward again, eager to not appear too strange to his son. He settled in the seat across from Kolyat, scooting the chair closer to the table and folding his hands across its surface. "Hello, Kolyat. It is nice to see you again."

Kolyat blinked and hummed, tracing invisible patterns across the tablecloth. It was a small comfort that he seemed just as nervous as Thane was, his deep hum skipping down Thane's scales and making his own chest vibrate in turn. "Hi Father. You didn't have any trouble finding the place?"

Thane blinked slowly, bringing his elbows in closer to his body. "No. I have never been here before, though. I assume you have? It seems to be a very nice establishment."

"It's Haron's favorite place." His son's eyes were distant, darting over him and everything else around them, obviously not comfortable enough to settle down in any one place. "He's taken me here a few times after my shift. Normally it's outside of my price range, but it's nice to... you know. Every once in a while."

Thane leaned forward, trying to catch his son's gaze. "Haron?"

And dark eyes so much like his own finally connected with his. "One of the turian C-Sec officers. I'm sure you've seen him before. He's been assigned as my superior. Bailey still gives me assignments, but Haron is my direct report."

"Ah." Thane favored him with a small smile, pleased with the thought of Kolyat making a place for himself. "And are you finding that you are liking the work?"

But Kolyat scoffed and scowled back, making Thane drop his eyes back to the table, turning up his wrists. "Oh yeah, cleaning up elcor piss has never been more fun. Also, it's really great being just about the only person who can understand the ultraviolet flashes the hanar produce. I get called out for every single domestic—no matter the time—just to act as a damn translator."

"You received the surgery?" Thane tentatively asked, still keeping his eyes trained on the pattern of the cloth. "I was not aware of that."

He did not have to look up to hear the venom in Kolyat's voice. "Yeah, I'm sure there's a lot of things you aren't aware of."

Thane was quiet for a moment. Things were souring already... and he wasn't quite sure how to right them again. He should have known that just because they had traded half a dozen messages in a civil, polite, and at times, almost affectionate manner that Kolyat would not suddenly be fine with sitting down face-to-face. It was an overly optimistic expectation. So, Thane tried to keep to innocuous topics—work was usually fairly non-confrontational. "Do you... do you think you will stay with C-Sec once your duty is complete?"

And Kolyat seemed to relax a bit, the rough hiss easing in his words. "I'm not sure." He said after a moment. "Aunt thinks that's a good idea. But," He ran his middle fingers down one stripe on the cloth. "I don't know."

Thane trilled at the thought of his sister, hoping that he hadn't missed her on the Citadel—it would be another painfully awkward and likely semi-hostile reunion, but he would dearly like to see her again before the end, hear her lilting voice, feel her slim arms around his neck in one of her unavoidable embraces. Goddess, he missed his family. "How is Lelaka? Has she visited you yet?"

"No." Kolyat's voice held the same note of wistfulness that had vibrated Thane's, leaning forward slightly. "She hasn't been able to get offworld." But then his words took on the familiar sardonic tone that Thane had gotten used to over the past several weeks. "Rayna stopped by though. I had a feeling she was just checking up on me rather than actually paying a social visit. Especially since I came back to my apartment later to find new security cameras installed. And several in the vents. Including the one in my washroom."

Thane winced. Leave it to Rayna to intrude where she was not exactly welcome. She was too protective for her own good sometimes. And Kolyat was apparently too observant for  _his_. "She cares about you." Thane offered, hoping to explain her idiosyncrasies but knowing that Kolyat, like so many others, would not really understand.

And, sure enough, Kolyat flicked his eyelids, frill darkening with irritation. "Yeah, all you assassin types show it really well."

"We grew up differently than you, Kolyat." Thane said patiently, trying to make his son understand it even a  _little_. "Some things do not come as naturally."

Kolyat's retort was sharp, making Thane flinch back as if his son wielded an actual blade. "Like being an actual parent?"

The waiter stopped by, preventing Thane from replying. Kolyat ordered with practiced ease, and Thane, still too flustered from his son's last comment, just asked for the same, not really knowing what he was getting and not particularly caring. It seemed that, no matter the route Thane took, he was going to mess this up somehow. This would be so much easier if he could stop over thinking things, stop over analyzing...

The salarian turned to leave, when Thane blurted out, "And a double shot of  _tekana_  please." Thane blinked at Kolyat's raised eyeridge. "And for you as well?" He added in a desperate attempt to make the order seem as if it weren't out of the ordinary at all.

But Kolyat's quick eyes missed nothing. His son's lips were curled with challenge. "Sure."

The silence between them stretched until the drinks were delivered, and Thane held the glass in loose fingers, suddenly unsure of his decision to drink. It was probably a really bad decision. Certainly not his best. But Kolyat drained his in several swallows (when had his son learned to drink like that? Surely he was too young), and then Thane had no choice.

The alcohol burned its way down his throat, and Thane set the glass down, staring at it for a moment. He already felt his mental checkpoints begin to fuzz away. "I thought... our messages... you... seemed..."

Kolyat's voice slipped an octave deeper, a low rumble roughening the edges. "Yeah, well, it's a little different having you right in front of me."

Thane frowned, hazarding a glance up at his son. "I just... want to try to get to know you."

Kolyat shrugged, a ragged hiss coloring the air. "Yeah? So what do you want to know?"

And then Thane drew a complete blank. He already asked about Kolyat's work. He knew what his son had been studying on Kahje. Lelaka had written about his hobbies, his awards, his talents... It wasn't that Thane didn't know what to ask, it was more that he didn't know what would be appropriate to ask. He assumed that Kolyat knew what his aunt was writing. Would he be insulted by Thane asking something that he already knew from the letters? Would he think that Thane had never read them? Thane wanted to hear his son talk about his life in his  _own_  voice, his  _own_  words, but... Ah, wait, what about...

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

Kolyat had been in the middle of taking a drink of water, which, in hindsight wasn't the best time to ask that question. His son coughed and sputtered, dark eyes wide with surprise. " _What_? Father! Oceans! No, no I don't have a  _girlfriend_."

"A boyfriend, then?" Thane offered.

"No!" Kolyat hissed, frill dark with embarrassment. "Amonkira's chapped scaly frill, you can't just ask me something like that. It's none of your business!"

"Oh." Thane traced the edge of the glass. "Sorry."

The waiter chose that moment (probably intentionally, if Thane were any judge of the surreptitious observation he and Kolyat had been under since they had started talking) to deliver their food, and Thane welcomed the opportunity to shove food in his mouth and not talk; Kolyat apparently did too, for they spent the next several moments chewing in silence.

Finally, Thane offered, "This is really good." And it was. The vegetables were fresh and crisp, and there was some sort of noodle concoction that tasted as if the noodles weren't made out of grain at all, but some other type of vegetable. It meant that Thane's stomach wouldn't be protesting later that night, which was what usually happened when he ate anything involving grain.

"Yeah, it's what I always get." Kolyat mumbled around a mouthful of food.

"So." Thane tried again, hoping to be more successful this time. "Do you have any other friends besides Haron? Have you found any more good establishments on the Citadel?"

"Haron's not my friend." Kolyat frowned. "He's my superior. Sometimes we just socialize after our shifts. Talk about how much we hate people." That sounded like a friend to Thane, but he wasn't one to judge. "And no, I don't have any other friends. I'm kept busy over there. I don't have time to really go out and do things. As far as other places," Kolyat was silent a moment, reliving a memory. "There's a bar over in Tayseri ward that doesn't water down their  _tekana_  and also doesn't charge six credits a shot like they do here. It's a dive, but there's no vomit on the bar or piss on the seats, so it's fine. And there's a park... lots of water. I like it there."

Thane nodded, crooning softly. "Over in the Gaeron Botanical Gardens? Yes, I know that place. It is very... serene."

Kolyat actually smiled a bit at that, and Thane trilled with pleasure. "Yeah. I sometimes..." He started, but then seemed to hesitate. "...nothing. Never mind."

"What is it?" Thane leaned forward. "I would like to know, if you would wish to share it with me."

Kolyat flicked nervous eyes up at Thane, crossed his arms and then uncrossed them again, finally leaning forward a bit too. "I..." He hummed. "...Paint. Sometimes. Canvases are expensive. I could only afford one. I'm making it count."

Thane smiled, but Kolyat hastened to clarify. "It's not that good. Not like Mother. I've never been as good as she was."

Thane slid his hand across the table, touching Kolyat ever so lightly on the arm before withdrawing. He always was a bit shy about his paintings. "You always had great talent, Kolyat. Your mother believed very strongly that you were a natural artist like she was. I hope I can see your work when it is completed. I am sure that it is beautiful."

Kolyat hummed, ducking his head. "I guess I can show you when it's finished. But don't expect much."

Thane crooned gently and opened his mouth to say something more, when Kolyat said quickly, "So, can you tell me anything about what you're doing?"

He wanted the spotlight off of him, that much Thane could see. He inclined his head, letting his son off the hook. "We are nearly ready to make our final assault. Shepard is helping some of her crew finish their personal business before we leave."

Kolyat blinked. "Why?"

His son was too clever for his own good, and Thane suddenly felt the danger of this conversation. It could go very badly, very quickly. "It... is a dangerous mission, son." He tried to keep his words neutral. "It is best to attempt such things with a clear mind and heart."

Kolyat was silent for a moment. "How likely is it that you're not coming back?"

And this was what Thane wanted to avoid. He gave a pained hiss, unsure of how to respond. It was entirely possible that they  _would_ _not_  come back, but he couldn't say that to Kolyat. If it had been anyone else, Thane would have argued for practicality; there was no use for false hope, but he couldn't face the hurt and disappointment in his son's eyes. "I... Shepard has made all the preparations that she can. Our armor and weapons are the best the market—and sometimes the black market—has to offer. She is a brilliant strategist and assures us that we will be victorious. We... have to be victorious."

"What exactly is at stake here?" Kolyat's shrewd, quick eyes darted over Thane's face. "Why are you doing this?"

Thane dropped his eyes down to his plate, blinking slowly before raising them back up again. "I do this for you." His words were quiet, gentle. "If we fail, all hope is lost. I do this so that you might be safe."

Kolyat scoffed, leaning back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "You think about everything in terms of death. It's better to just  _be_  with someone, even if it's just a little while, even if you know everything will come crashing down in the end. I thought you would have learned that from Mother's death. I did."

Kolyat's words—did he mean them to be so poignant, so achingly  _wise_?—made Thane nearly start with surprise. They were weighted with an importance that Kolyat surely couldn't have intended. "I..." Thane shook his head. "I see the truth in your words. It is something that has taken me a long time to understand; I am still not sure if I grasp it. But I still... have to do this. I promised I would. And there is far more at stake than just us."

And for a moment, Kolyat's eyes were the large, sad eyes of the child he remembered, the child who had begged him to stay home. "You've promised a lot of things and broken them." Kolyat said, a desperate trill coloring his words. "Can't you break this promise too?"

Thane felt himself dying inside; all he wanted to do was throw his hands in the air and say yes, of course, and then they could have dinner every day in whatever restaurant they liked. "I am done breaking promises, Kolyat. But, know that if it is within my power, I will come back to you. Amonkira will guide me. Arashu will protect me. If it is their will, they will see that I make it back to you."

But Thane's vow seemed to depress Kolyat even further. "I stopped believing in the gods a long time ago, Father. When did they ever intervene? When did they ever help us? Why would they take Mother?"

Even as Thane believed them, he knew his words sounded hollow. "It is not for us to know the gods' plans..."

" _Right_ ," Kolyat sneered. "And there's a perfectly rational explanation for why they'd let someone like Mother be beaten to death in her own home while her son listens to it from the other room. Perfectly rational. If only my tiny mortal mind could understand it."

Thane visibly flinched at the memories that shattered behind his eyes— _her body, broken and used, bruises darkening her already dark flesh, clothes torn, blood crusting the edge of her open lips, fingers bent unnaturally back, eyes sightless and dull, dried tears making pale tracks on her cheek_ _—_ and for a moment he could say nothing, could do nothing but bow his head, a light shudder wracking his body, and he could hear Kolyat's regretful croon soften the air, could feel the light brush of repentant fingers on his hand before they shied away.

And Thane had heard his son's argument often enough. But it was never an argument that was easy to respond to, especially when the proponent was his own child who had more than enough reasons to stand by it. The gods knew Thane's own faith had been tested after Irikah's death. He finally rose his eyes to look at his son, whose own expression was softened with shared sorrow. They had both been broken that night. "I understand your outlook, even if I do not share it. You might find my faith misplaced, but it is there nonetheless. If my belief in the gods makes you question my sincerity when I promise that I will make it back to you, then I apologize."

"No, it's... fine. Just... I don't know." He signaled to the waiter. "Can we get another round over here?"

Thane eyed the glass with no small amount of trepidation, but when Kolyat downed it easily, Thane once again felt that he had no choice. Peer pressured by his own child—it would be funny if he didn't ache so much inside. Four shots of  _tekana_  made Thane's head swim—Kolyat seemed fine, which meant that he probably had his mother's metabolism (that is, a normal metabolism, and not Thane's off kilter one where he went from sober to intoxicated in only a few moments). He focused on drinking water to take the edge off; it was no small blessing that his son didn't seem to notice that Thane was nearing the end of his endurance.

"So what else can you tell me?" Kolyat rumbled, pushing stray vegetables around his plate with a fork, apparently eager to steer the conversation in to calmer waters. "What did you do for ten years?"

Thane blinked, unsure of how much Kolyat really wanted to know. "I took contracts. Not just any contract," he clarified. "I had promised your mother that I would only take those that brightened the galaxy. I kept my promise. I took the lives of those that hurt others, those whose time had come for Kalahira to take them."

But Kolyat seemed skeptical; Thane didn't blame him. "And how did you know this?"

He nodded, taking another drink of water. "I researched them. I did not make a decision to kill lightly. I spent weeks, sometimes months, gathering evidence, confirming their guilt. "

Kolyat folded his arms over his chest, looking every bit the C-Sec officer. "If you had all this evidence, why didn't you go through the authorities?"

Thane stopped himself from smiling. His son's unfailing belief in the powers of justice was both endearing and precious to him. He hoped that Kolyat could always keep that faith, could always be that trusting, even as he knew it could not last forever. There were still some aspects of his son that needed maturation, it seemed. "Things are not as simple as that, Kolyat. Often those that claimed to champion justice were on the payroll of the criminals. If I brought the evidence to them, they would have destroyed it… and ensured my own silence in the most permanent way possible."

Kolyat shivered slightly, blinking dark eyes; Thane's answer had unnerved him. "And so, for ten years," he said, shifting the subject a bit again. "You traveled around the galaxy? Taking out bad guys?"

Thane gave a preemptive trill of apology. "I know I should have been with you. Often what seems so clear is only perceived after we have made the mistake… albeit, my mistake was a decade in the making."

Kolyat shook his head, tapping his middle fingers on the table, when his omnitool chirped. "Oh, damn, my break is up." He stood with a strange grace, throwing his napkin on the table.

"You have to go?" Thane murmured, standing as well, disappointed that the visit was over so soon, but almost relieved that the opportunities to make a fool of himself had come to an end. "Of course. I will not keep you. Thank you for meeting me."

"Yeah, no problem." He pulled up his omintool to pay the check, but Thane rumbled his disagreement.

"No, Kolyat, let me pay. It is the least I can…"

"Father, no." Kolyat fixed him with a stern eye, but there was no malice in it. "I got it. I didn't save up this money for nothing."

Thane submitted, nodding and crooning low. His son's pride was attached to this, and Thane would not challenge that. "Very well. I can get the next one?"

Kolyat didn't answer right away, tapping the commands in his omnitool, but finally he looked up, favoring Thane with a small smile. "Sure. Next time. You pick the place."

And so they parted, and Thane was left alone, nearly overwhelmed with the ultimate success of the meal. In all honesty, he had half expected Kolyat to storm out half way through. Instead, Thane got a promise for another meal in the future. Things were… looking up.

Thus it was with a smile on his face that he messaged Kasumi, asking if she were still at the café, and her quick answer that she was made him trill a bit with happiness. He would tell her of his success—no doubt she would like to hear some gossip about him, and this was one piece of news that he would not mind spreading. Imagine—information about Thane Krios that did not showcase yet another one of his failures. It was welcome indeed.

The walk over allowed him to think on his conversation with Kolyat a little deeper. His desperate plea for Thane to give up the mission was almost enough to sway him. Thane thought briefly on what it would be like to withdraw from the contract, rent a small place on the Citadel, and spend the remainder of his few days reconnecting with his son. It would be a pleasant way to end his life, but… what of Kolyat? What would happen when the Reapers came? Thane's selfish desire to spend his days in peace with Kolyat could lead to his son's death—or worse. Thane was not so arrogant that he believed the success of the mission depended on him, but often the tide of battle hinged on the actions of one person, regardless of whether or not that one person was considered particularly crucial.

So, Thane couldn't adhere to his son's wishes, no matter how happy it would temporarily make them both.

And yet, Kolyat's words… " _It's_ _better_ _to_ _just_ be  _with_ _someone,_ _even_ _if_ _it's_ _just_ _a_ _little_ _while,_ _even_ _if_ _you_ _know_ _everything_ _will_ _come_ _crashing_ _down_ _in_ _the_ _end._ " Perhaps that was true in some cases. Perhaps it was even true in this case. But could Thane go to the sea, knowing that his son would shortly join him? No. Sometimes present pleasures must be sacrificed in order to secure happiness in the future. The children Kolyat would eventually raise deserved to live in safety and peace. Hopefully Kolyat would understand that one day.

It was the same with Shepard, really.

It… was…

Thane walked into the café, spotting Kasumi instantly as she waved at him from a table, but his mind was far too occupied to return the gesture with anything but a blank stare.

Kolyat was right. Whether or not he intended his advice to be taken as such, Thane found himself racing ahead with it. It wasn't enough to merely guide Shepard to a new source of support. It wasn't enough to lurk in the shadows, a dark shade walking in her footsteps like a ghost, unseen and protecting. To  _be_  with her… That was more important. Her words,  _it_ _ends_ _badly_ , drifted through his mind again, making him immediately doubt himself, wonder if he could, if he should... Would he hurt her more in the end? Would it be worth it? Ultimately, he would never know unless he tried. And, in that way, it was also the same as with Kolyat. Would he hurt his son more in the end if he went away to fight at Shepard's side? Would it be worth it? Would they ever defeat the Reapers? He could not live with himself if he did not at least make the effort.

His feet had carried him over to the table, where Kasumi gave him a curious stare. "I can practically see the gears in your head turning, Krios. What's on your mind?"

"Kasumi." Thane sat down, clasping his hands before him. "You said you wanted to meddle in my relationship with Shepard. What ideas did you have?"

The shocked expression on her face was almost enough to make him laugh if he hadn't been so serious.

"Well." She chuckled. "I certainly wasn't expecting  _that_. But… well… I have a few…"

* * *

Kasumi's plan had been to convince Garrus to work with them—she promised that she'd be able to get the turian to agree, and since Garrus had been making it a personal quest of his to give Thane as many dirty looks as possible, Thane deferred to Kasumi's expertise on calming agitated turians. Thane's mission, on the other hand, was to get Shepard to allow him to go on an excursion.

He thought it was going to be easy since Shepard took him along for nearly every one anyway, but he was proved incorrect when she passed him up several times for missions that normally he would have assumed would be his. It was… a bit unsettling. Oh, of course, the assignments came from Miranda, but Thane knew that Shepard's hand was in it. So, instead Thane found himself getting more and more restless as the week wore on until, at Kasumi's insistence, he approached Shepard directly and in public and, as the thief predicted, Shepard couldn't deny him something so innocuous without seeming unfair.

Thane thought it a bit unfair to put Shepard on the spot like that, but he went along with it as a necessary evil.

He spent an inordinate amount of time in Kasumi's room now, not that he minded. The window out to the stars was nice, and she allowed him to pick up her books and touch the pages (he couldn't read them, but that wasn't the point—still, it was a pity that her books couldn't be translated at the touch of a button into his language the way that datapads could), so all in all the visits were rather pleasant if one didn't count her increasingly smug conversation. "So now that you're coming along with us…"

Thane looked up, his fingers lingering on the corner of a page. "Us? You are coming too?"

Kasumi turned away from looking out the window to purse her purple lips at him. "I'm not idle like you, Thane. I get things done. Miranda was easy to convince—don't ask me how I did it; it's a trade secret. And yeah, I'm coming along too to make sure you don't screw this up again."

Thane began to let loose an irritated hiss when Kasumi cut him off. "As I was saying. Now that you're coming along with us, I want to make sure you understand how you're presenting yourself during the mission." She stepped toward him, vaulting over the sofa to poke him in the chest. "No moping! And no frowning. Be pleasant. Be amiable. Make her remember what she's missed. You're going to be the most charming drell ever to grace that black leather since the dawn of your species, and you're going to  _like_  it."

He put the book down and batted her hands away like the pest she was. "I do not  _mope_."

"Honey, that is like saying water isn't wet."

Thane decided to forgo a retort in favor of a simple expression of withering contempt.

Her smile was far too superior. "Glare at me all you like. Get it out of your system. I want to see you being all sunshine and smiles when we're down there killing asari."

Thane hissed sardonically. "Oh yes, nothing like the blood of your enemies to bring out the sweetest of dispositions."

"For psychos like you?" She came back at him immediately. "Sure."

She would almost make him laugh if he did not want to strangle her. She reminded him of a fellow student, a long time ago, who had been just as cocky, just as infuriatingly clever. Perhaps he would laugh while strangling her. It seemed to be a good compromise. "Keep the compliments coming, Kasumi. I can feel my mood lifting already."

"Pardon me," EDI's crisp voice sliced through their banter. "The Commander asked me to inform you when we were ten minutes from our drop point. She asks that you meet her at the shuttle."

Thane looked up—at what he had no idea, but it was a gesture he could not seem to break. "Acknowledged, EDI, thank you. Please tell Shepard that we are on our way."

"Logging you out."

Kasumi bounded out the door; Thane followed more sedately, and in short order they were all three sitting in the shuttle, Shepard sitting across from them, one leg crossed over the other. Her eyes met Thane's briefly, and Thane, remembering Kasumi's directive, gave her a small smile. She blinked at that, seemingly confused before returning a tiny one back of her own. And then Thane suddenly wished that they were alone, and he could take her hands in his and tell her how much he  _missed_  her, her voice, her words, her warmth. He had barely spoken three sentences to her since their unfortunately episode in the armory, and her absence was becoming almost too much, too much for him to bear—all the more so now that she was in front of him, scenting the air with that sweet taste of water and spring leaves, now intermingled with the sharp spice of gun oil and armor. The combination made a low, distant rumble vibrate his chest, and he swallowed it down, unwilling to let that thought go any further.

Shepard, thankfully, seemed blissfully unaware of his thoughts, for she launched immediately into her customary pre-battle informative speech.

"Thanks for coming along, you two." Her eyes flicked back and forth between him and Kasumi. "This is a pretty standard operation. The asari smugglers we're going after have a fairly substantial red sand trade, and their reach has gotten a little too far. We're going in, infiltrating their perimeter, and going after their main servers. The catch is that we have to do it without alerting anyone, or their information—buyers, sellers, leaders—will be toasted on the local servers and shot off to god knows where. But, since you two are the silent, crafty type, I suspect we'll have no problem."

"You can count on us, Shep." Kasumi nodded, and Thane inclined his head.

"My arm is yours, Shepard." Her eyes met his again, and he felt himself trill. Shepard heard that one, for she darted her eyes down to his throat, a gesture whose importance was surely lost on her. Nevertheless, Thane broke the eye contact, unable to keep it any longer and maintain composure.

 _You_ _can_ _be_ _friends_ _with_ _her_. He told his traitorous body as they exited the shuttle, moving quickly and silently through the dark, cold woods to their destination.  _You_ _have_ _to_ _stop_ _thinking_ _about_ _her_ _like_ _that._  Kasumi cloaked beside him, and he was left with Shepard bounding before him like some ethereal woodland creature, despite her armor, despite her guns. Thane followed closely behind, a dark silent shadow vaulting quickly over branches, slipping through brambles.

She came to a sudden stop, her breath coming out in little puffs, kneeling behind a fallen tree. The trunk was large enough that it obscured them both, and she leaned against it for a moment to adjust her weapon before peering over. The compound's perimeter was a mere fifteen meters ahead, and their entrance point looked unguarded.

Thane trailed absentminded fingers through damp moss, trying to detect any sign of movement. It was difficult to see—the trees obscured much, and the trunks were thick enough that there could easily be foes standing behind them, outside of their field of vision. They would have to rely on Kasumi for their visual. He shivered a bit with the cold, eager to be inside.

"Are you cold?" Shepard murmured beside him. "I should have thought of that. I'm sorry."

Thane looked over at her, giving her a reassuring smile. "I have been in much harsher conditions. It will be better once we get inside."

Kasumi's voice came crackling over their earpieces. "Two asari, lightly armed. They obviously aren't expecting us. I can take out one, but the other is too far away. Ten meters to your right, five meters up."

"Thane." Shepard locked eyes with him, and he dipped his head low.

"It is done."

He crept through the dead leaves, avoiding stepping on the new, tender shoots coming up through the forest floor out of instinct, pressing himself flat against the dark gray of a tree when her scent reached him—sharp like all asari, with the spiciness of their biotics. It was short work to dispatch her, his hands around her throat, hearing her neck snap, and covering her mouth to avoid letting anyone hear her last gurgle. He lowered her gently into the leaves as Shepard padded silently up behind him. "Ready?"

"Lead the way, Shepard."

Getting in was easy, and with Thane and Kasumi taking point once they were inside to dispatch any guards, in short order they reached the servers, downloaded the information they needed, and cut the connection. Kasumi went to work frying all of the local data, and Shepard sighed, cracking her fingers. "Ah, finally. No more silence. Let's wipe them out."

Thane slipped his gun out of its holster, feeling his biotics tingle along his scales. "Was it difficult for you, Shepard?"

She looked at him sharply, as if unsure if he was serious or not. She must have seen something light in his eyes, for she smiled. "Very. What about you?"

Thane automatically checked the heatsink before slamming it back in. "Oh, you have no idea."

"Done." Kasumi whispered.

"Good." Shepard said, turning her bright gaze to the thief. "Keep up with us, but stay hidden. Do what you do best and strike from the shadows. Thane and I will take the brunt of it. Meet us at the exit point."

"Understood. Going dark." And she shimmered out of view, silent steps taking her out of the room.

"And now it's just us." Shepard's own biotics spiced the air, and she cradled her SMG almost lovingly. "Gonna be able to keep up with me, Krios?"

Thane raised an eyeridge, a rasping hiss edging his words. "Has it been that long, Shepard, since we have worked with each other that your human mind has forgotten my mastery of this art?" He stepped closer to her, their biotics sparking as they touched. "No matter. I will refresh your memory."

Her eyes were dark with something that made things low inside of him shiver with... "Let's see you prove it." She said before spinning on her heel and leading the way out. She stalked up to a room they had crept past before, and...

They fight as one.

Thane feels the crackle of her biotics claw sharp nails down his scales, and he nearly cries out with pleasure, taking aim at the enemies she throws against the back wall, squeezing the trigger, feeling a dark trill ripple through his chest as the blood sprays delicate patterns on the wall.

They move from room to room.

An enemy tries to flank her, he slides behind his siha to grasp the asari with his biotics and pull her forward, a blade in his hand and then in her throat before flinging her away into a crowd; Shepard whirls around and shoots one behind him—one, two, three shots to the chest—and the hot hiss of the bullets whizzing past his face do not even make him  _blink_ , and she laughs, full and with the force of the tide, and it is all he can do to not bring an arm around her waist and pull her toward him, tasting the blood on her skin and element zero in her mouth, in her breath, in... her...

On the catwalk, another, and Thane moves past her to pull out his rifle and fall into a crouch, pulling the trigger with a sharp crack and sending a warp field arcing over the crates. His siha rains down fire and blood, and just as he sees their last behind a crate, she lifts the foe, and he delivers the final shot; it echos with an almost painfully beautiful sound, and he can hear her approval in her breathy moan, that single noise from her throat making him nearly delirious with need... their eyes meet, and he can see it there too, mirroring his own, and his mind is full of her, the blood on her face, the smell of heat and victory, and he imagines her pale, patterned legs locking around his hips, sharp nails in his frill and  _claiming_  him...

"Shepard." There is some dark, ragged note in his voice that makes her bite her coral lips, flush with battle, flush with...

"Well, that's that." Kasumi said, shimmering into view next to them. Shepard coughed and stood, breaking her gaze. "Nice job, you two." The thief caught Thane's eyes and grinned. "A little more overt than I usually like, but I cannot deny its effectiveness."

Thane cleared his throat and stood, running his hands over his rifle before shouldering it. There was a double meaning to Kasumi's words that he didn't quite feel up to addressing at the moment. "It is something that one must get used to when working with the Commander." He forced himself to hum some note of amusement, thankful that for once Kasumi's jokes were well-timed. He had the sense that if he and Shepard had been left alone for only a few more moments, something... untoward might have happened. "Shepard does not believe in stealth."

"It's like using a nuclear device to kill ants." Kasumi chirped, and Thane felt an actual smile tug up his mouth, pulling down the edge of his coat, trying to get the wrinkles out.

Shepard shot them both a look, taking off her helmet, her damp hair in little ringlets around her seashell face. "Hilarious. My sides are splitting."

Kasumi kept the banter going on the walk back to the Kodiak, but Thane could not offer much in return. His thoughts were full of his siha, her grace, her scent, her warmth... What he had wanted to do... what he had wanted  _her_  to do... Her teeth on his throat, marking him, possessing him, and then his mouth at the warm, wet juncture of her thighs, his name a constant cry on her crimson lips... He had been ready to take her right there, on the battlefield, surrounded by death and blood and the whimpers of the dying, and she seemed...  _her_ _moan_ _is_ _deep_ _and_ _low_ _with_ _desire..._ she did not seem as if she would have objected.

But that need did not still pulse in his mind; rather, he felt as if he had already filled it, or that, more accurately, the coals had been banked under warm ashes, the heaviness of his limbs and the almost languid way in which he held himself was something that he had not experienced in a long time.

And she, his siha, she felt it too. He could see it, smell it, taste the air and fill his mouth with her heady scent. He knew that it would take only a small spark to ignite it again... only a small spark...

He knew he shouldn't.  _Friends_ , he kept chanting in his head. They were  _friends_. But, Goddess help him, the longer he spent around her, the more he felt his resolve crumble like sandy banks into the rising tide.

He was drowning.

* * *

 **A/N:**  Whew, this is a long one! Thanks to my ever delightful beta for devoting time to such a long-winded chapter. ^_^ She is really just the best person in the world!

I've already started working on the next one, and since the semester is over and I have submitted all my students' grades, I will hopefully be able to get the next one out much faster! I really want to try to finish this before ME3 comes out, and even though there are only four chapters left, I still feel as though I am running out of time!

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this. It was fun writing something more lighthearted after the last couple of mopey chapters. :D


	16. Thunder of Spring over Distant Mountains

He honestly had his doubts that it would actually work.

But Kasumi was apparently some sort of genius when it came to manipulating people and predicting behavior, because as she foretold, Shepard joined them, two cups of tea in her hand, her stance uncertain and awkward. Kasumi's prediction did not stop him from being surprised, making him nearly slip and call Shepard 'siha'—he was sure she would not appreciate that—but he had recovered quickly and leaped upon the opportunity, not allowing her to retreat as she clearly wanted to and making her sit next to him on the sofa.

The evening had progressed far better than he had hoped; she seemed to relax in his presence once again, especially with Kasumi ready with a clever comment whenever the conversation flagged. The tension that had sat heavily on his scales and her fair skin seemed to evaporate almost noticeably as time wore on, and before long, she was laughing like she used to, her easy smiles and bright eyes turned on him with a pleasure that made him trill in response.

 _Friends_. He forced himself to  _not_  think of her coral lips, the way her pink tongue wet them; of her pale throat, exposed when she threw her head back to laugh; of her delicate scars, spread in sweet patterns across her soft skin. He could do this. He could be her friend and nothing more. It was all he wanted, he reminded himself. He just wanted to be able to help her. And based on her ease with him in Kasumi's room, he had what he wanted. The awkwardness between them was gone, and it was as if he had never tried to...  _my mouth hovers over hers, and I taste her warm breath on my tongue, sweet like ripe seaberries_... kiss her.

And now… now they were alone, out in the mess hall, moving through their neglected tea ritual with a calm efficiency that he had  _missed_. He washed the cups out while she turned the heat on the kettle, standing up on the tips of her toes to reach the highest cupboard. His eyes traveled down the long, lean line of her body, and he blinked at her, wondering what she could possibly be reaching for.

She gave a crooked smile, apparently guessing his thoughts, and said, "I used the last of the tea bags when I made the two cups for us. The reserves are all the way up here." She stretched, just missing the box in the cupboard, her fingers wiggling on the metal.

"I would help," Thane rumbled, turning from the clean cups to face her. "But I am afraid I am not much taller than you."

"Ah, the misfortune of short people." Shepard strained, trying to reach before giving up and hoisting herself up on the counter. "Don't tell Gardner."

Thane trilled at her, eyelids flicking. "It will be our secret."

She grinned down at him, handing him the new box of tea. "I'd make you pinky swear, but I'm sure that would mean absolutely nothing to you."

"Pinky swear?" Thane repeated slowly. "Something tells me that you are not referring to the color?"

Shepard laughed, sliding down to her feet again. "No. It's a peculiar thing some humans do—we link our pinkies… our little fingers," she said and held up said finger after he shot her a confused look. "And make a promise."

"The threat being that the one who breaks the promise gets a broken… pinky?" She held out her hand for the box, and he handed it back to her.

"I don't think it's quite that… draconian…" She ripped open the box and fished two bags out. "What about your species? Any weird promise rituals?"

"To seal vows, we will sometimes clasp each other's forearms, pressing our wrists together." Thane slid his cup over to himself, tugging at the tea bag's string. "Our wrists are sensitive," and he tried not to think of her delicate skin of  _her_  wrist and how he must be able to feel her heart through that tender point. "Blood flows close to the surface there, and in the old stories they were often points of great strength—or exploited as great weaknesses. Do you have any explanation for yours? Or is it as inexplicable as your other human rituals?"

"I'm sure there's some sort of explanation, but I have no idea what it is." She shot him a look out of the corner of her eyes. "What other human rituals are you talking about?"

Thane hummed at her, taking a guarded sip of his tea before answering. "Some of your holidays are strange."

And she seemed to hum a little back at him; he was amused by the thought that she was trying, consciously or no, to sound like him. Was it that great of a stretch? He caught himself mimicking her gestures; she might do the same for him. "Like what?"

"Like that one…" Thane closed his eyes for a moment. "I do not think I ever caught the name… but it is the one where you eat a bird (another example of your species' obsession with fowl, Shepard) and celebrate a largely fictional day in the past that was a prelude to an imperialistic colonization and systematic destruction of native peoples."

"Oh." She let loose a little laugh, shaking her head. "Thanksgiving?"

Thane turned to lean against the counter, and Shepard did the same; she was close enough that Thane could feel her warmth, and he felt himself edging a bit closer to her, stopping just short of actually touching. He knew touch was different for humans, but for drell, it could be a simple sign of affection, of trust. It was difficult, at times, knowing how to express himself when he couldn't really use his own body language. He did not want her to think that he was trying to...  _my thumb traces the silken pink edges of her lips_...

Oh Arashu, he  _really_  needed to get his mind under control. "Perhaps that is it; like I said, I do not think I ever caught the name. But why honor something that is stained with blood?"

Shepard glanced down at their nearly touching arms, and Thane almost cringed back, afraid he was crossing some sort of line, but she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, bringing them into contact, and he half-closed his eyes, letting out a soft purr at her low voice. "It's lost its original meaning by now amongst most people. But what about you? Drell don't have any weird holidays?"

His voice was low, rumbling, and he could feel Shepard lean a bit closer to hear him. "Our holidays mark the seasons or celebrate events in our… my… religion." He smiled a bit at her look of confusion for his poorly chosen words. "One does not have to be a believer to celebrate religious holidays."

She nodded her understanding, her green eyes bright. "And what do you do to mark those holidays?"

"We have parades, festivals." He looked over at her. "Would you have me share a memory with you?" At her welcoming smile, he continued. " _I climb the trellis, eager to see the dancers, and finally make my way above those that tower over me, perching on a ledge, holding myself in place with one hand fisted in vines. The costumes swirl in a melody of color, the opalescent bells ringing pink shell notes in the air, and I trill my excitement when She appears, the manifestation of Arashu's Own, red sand robes tipped with azure stones, strings of golden glass a tinkling veil hiding her face, and She tosses sweets to the crowd, and for a moment I wish that Mother was with me to tell me the story of this day once again._ "

When he opened his eyes, he found that hers were closed, and after a moment of silence, she turned her kelp eyes to him, a soft smile tugging up her coral lips. "That... was beautiful. Promise me you'll take me one day?"

Thane couldn't stop himself from reaching out to touch her, just for a moment, his fingers barely brushing the fine hairs along her forearm. To see her face as she looked upon the divine... it would be one of his most treasured memories, surely. "Nothing would make me happier, Shepard. No doubt you will find it even more lovely in person. Sometimes words do not suffice."

She did not shy away from him, and her voice was soft and sweet to his ears. "What else can you tell me about it? Do you eat any particular foods?"

Thane nodded, a deep croon vibrating his chest. "There is a certain sweet… pastry type of food that we often eat during festivals, especially the one I shared with you."

She perked up at that, bright eyes flashing. "Ooh, pastries? Do you know how to make them?"

Thane shook his head ruefully, wishing now that he had not dismissed the art of baking so readily. "As I said, Irikah was the cook. I am lucky enough to not ruin tea." He looked over at her, nodding over at the table. "Sit with me, Shepard." He settled into the chair, waving at the spot across from him.

And she complied, easing into her chair with a sigh. "Ah, now see? This is what I've missed."

Thane smiled at her, feeling his frill warm at her words. "We will have to steal moments like this with far more frequency to make up for the time we spent apart."

"Definitely." Shepard grinned at him, and he crooned in response. "So… I hear you visited Kolyat? How did that go?"

Thane leaned back in his chair, half closing his eyes with contentment. He had  _missed_  this, the conversations, her interest in his life. She made him feel as though what he did actually mattered, that he was worth the time it took to get to know him. She made him feel... wanted. And her question could not have been better—he wanted to share his visit with Kolyat. He wanted her to see that he could succeed at something as important as that. He did not fail at  _everything_  in his life. "Ah, it went better than expected. He did not shout at me. And I did not get…" He hesitated for effect, knowing that she would be all too amused by his admission. "...Too drunk."

"Wait, what?" Shepard laughed as he suspected, and he smiled at her, trilling. "You went drinking?"

"It was not our original intent, no. But… well, I started it." Thane ducked his head a little, suddenly feeling a bit ridiculous but not really caring because he knew his siha would not reject him for sharing silly aspects of himself. It was one of the reasons he liked her so very much. "I was feeling… nervous. So I ordered a drink. Kolyat did too, and we had another round, and… you already know my low tolerance for alcohol." He felt his throat flush at the memory... _her thighs on either side of my hips, so warm, so hot, and I touch her, brazen, audacious, the fluttering buzz of the alcohol easing any inhibitions._

If her warm, pink face was any indication, she was remembering it too. But she laughed, one hand coming up to brush a stray bit of hair behind her ear. "Oh, that is just too adorable." She nudged him under the table with one foot. "The feared assassin feeling nervous."

Thane let out a rumbling sigh of exasperation. "I do not know why everyone believes that I am completely stoic. I may hide my emotional reactions, but that does not mean that I do not have them."

"Yet," she held up a finger, her eyes sparkling with challenge. "You've said before that when you kill you feel nothing."

Thane leaned forward, holding out a finger to mirror hers, making her smile. "That is true. I mentally… retreat from what I am doing. Everything is quiet. Everything is still. And then, I feel nothing." He touched the tips of their fingers together. "Surely you must know of what I speak."

But she shied away; for some reason that touch, so small, so innocent, was too much, and Thane trilled an apology. She folded her arms in front of her, tucking her hands underneath them. "That detachment, yeah." Breaking his gaze, she studied the tea in front of her.

She seemed to withdraw uneasily into herself, but he was unwilling to let the conversation flag. It would not do for things to sour because of one, ill-timed touch. She seemed most interested when he revealed things about himself—something he had no problem doing for her. Nevertheless, his voice was still a bit hesitant; he did not know how uncomfortable she was. "But when I am not completing a job, I feel a wide variety of emotions… nervousness is among them."

And as he predicted, his words seemed to relax her. She unfolded her arms to wrap her hands around her tea, and cast her bright eyes up to his. "Do you only feel nervous around Kolyat?"

And part of him wanted to offer her a jest, something to make her laugh (he had  _just_  put her at ease again), but the other blurted out the truth, even as he felt it put him on dangerous ground. "No… Sometimes… sometimes you make me nervous as well."

"Me?" She furrowed her eyebrows, frowning at him. "Why?"

"You are complicated, Shepard." It was Thane's turn to avoid her gaze, and he looked down at his own tea, tracing the edge of the mug with one finger. Stupid, this was a stupid conversation to have. "...Interesting. And I wish to please you."

He did not have to look up to hear the disapproval in her voice, and he rumbled his regret. "I don't want you trying to please me."

He could still salvage this if he tried. "No, no you misunderstand me. I want… I want to help you succeed in your mission." He looked up at her for a moment, a low croon fuzzing the edge of his words, before training his gaze once more on the cup before him. "I believe in it, wholeheartedly. Thus, I wish to please you… to assist you in whatever way I can." He paused for a moment, and she looked at him expectantly, somehow knowing that he was searching for more words, and he appreciated her patience.

Finally, he said, "That is what friendship is, is it not? We help the other without expecting anything in return, simply for the betterment of that individual."

The frown was still in her voice, and he lifted tentative eyes to her. She shifted her mug back and forth, clearly uneasy with his words. "But that's not okay either… I feel as though our relationship is lopsided."

And Thane shook his head at this, trilling lightly. Shepard never seemed to understand her worth, never seemed to understand how important she was to those around her. "Do you believe that you have done nothing for me? You have done… everything. More than I could have ever thought to ask for. I only have Kolyat in my life now because of you. I am infused now with a sense of purpose, whereas before I had none."

But she worried at her lip, bringing her elbows in closer to herself. "Don't put so much of that on me. Anything I did for you would have been useless if you hadn't wanted to take action yourself."

"And you discount the effect you have on others." Thane shot back, smiling at the pink embarrassment that suffused her cheeks. "You are an inspiration to many—I am not the only one of your crew that has benefited from your guidance." Shepard squirmed in her seat, and Thane felt himself nearly ache inside with how much he adored her—so humble, so unassuming. She looked at herself nearly as he used to: merely a tool, something appropriate for the job and nothing more. What she did not see was that she was so much more than that—and not just to him.

But her soft face flushed even darker at his words, so Thane let it go, crooning gently for her, reaching out to brush his fingers against her hand. He would help her to realize how important she was as an individual later. "But I am embarrassing you; I am sorry. Let us talk of something else." He tapped his middle fingers together; it was time to turn the questions to her. "Did you do anything noteworthy while we were…" Thane struggled for a moment to find an appropriate word, and decided there really wasn't one. "Apart?"

She looked up at him, apparently grateful for his change of subject even if it was clumsy. "Noteworthy? Hardly. I mean, I think I got more work done in the space of a week than in my whole life put together, but that's not very interesting."

He hummed at her, blinking slowly. "No, indeed it is not. But at least you are caught up on your paperwork, yes?"

At this Shepard gave him a guilty little smile. "Uhm. Sure?"

Thane shook his head, giving her a mock frown. "Oh  _Shepard_."

She ran a quick hand through her hair, making it land in strange layers and ruffles, and heaved a sigh, leaning back dramatically in her chair. "But it's boring! And I don't like it!"

Thane steepled his hands together, looking at her over the tips of his fingers, trilling his amusement. "Paperwork is not supposed to be exciting. Paperwork is the antithesis of excitement. Still, that does not mean we can neglect it."

"Yeah?" She leaned forward again and raised a challenging eyebrow. "And how much paperwork have you had to do in your lifetime?"

Thane raised an eyeridge of his own, and he felt his mouth settle into what he knew was a probably inordinately smug smirk. "I will have you know that when Rayna took over for our master, I helped her quite a bit by doing her paperwork."

Shepard laughed lightly. "Thane the secretary." She wiggled those eyebrows suggestively. "Have any… late nights in the office?"

Thane bit back a laugh at that; any late nights he had there were far from entertaining… especially in that manner. Rayna had been unstoppable when she first took over, working nearly twenty hours a day, and she had expected him to work right alongside her. He was younger than she was, as she continually reminded him, and had to have at least as much stamina as she did. He had given in to a couple of those days before he sat her down to again force her to eat and told her bluntly that he was working eight hours a day for her from now on, no negotiations. She had stared at him a moment before humming apathetically and saying that she hardly cared what he did with his time; he was doing a favor for her anyway.

But of course Shepard knew nothing of that. Thane blinked slowly at her, deciding to be difficult. "Are you making a lewd joke?" He said with a light trill and a small smile. "Sometimes human quips on sexuality do not quite translate."

She waved an irritated hand at him. "Well, the joke isn't funny if I have to explain it." Her eyes were quick and observant, traveling over his face, apparently trying to read into what he was saying… and it suddenly occurred to Thane that she might have a more personal reason why she was interested in his relationship with Rayna. If Kasumi had been right, and Shepard  _had_  harbored feelings for him... well... perhaps she was seeing if she had competition?

Thane hid his smile with a drink of his tea and tried to calm the flushing of his throat—the thought was amusing and flustering at the same time... if it were true. "Regardless, it would not have been funny because Rayna and I… well… we grew up together, Shepard. I would as soon have a 'late night in the office' (if that means what I think it means) with her as I would my sister."

"Oh." She worried at her bottom lip. "Well. Sorry. That was a bit awkward?"

Thane laughed low at her. "Not at all. How could you know? I said she was a friend; how were you to know what sort of friend?"

And Shepard relaxed, giving him an easy smile. "How long have you known her then?"

"Since I was given to the Compact, so… more than thirty years."

Her eyes widened. "Wow. And you've remained close this entire time?"

"Oh, there have been periods when we did not talk as much—each of us too busy to socialize. But we always come back together, and it was as if we had never spent any time apart. She is one of the few people who truly understands me, having been raised in the same environment with the same expectations." He leaned forward a bit. "You should meet her. I think you would get along. She can be a bit… sarcastic, biting. But she is very kind." A part of him was thrilled at the thought; he couldn't imagine Rayna adoring Shepard any less than he did, and they could share stories and songs and food and drink, and it would be magnificent.

She grinned, her eyes brilliant and shining. "Well, you should set something up for us, then." Thane felt a bittersweet pleasure at her words—she acted as though not only would they survive this upcoming mission but he would be around long enough for all of these plans to take place. The plans were lovely in his head, after all, but the actual execution? Well... it wasn't likely to take place.

"Is she still on Kahje? Or, I guess she would be because she's taken over, right?" Shepard was full of questions—they just kept coming. "And why did she become the new master and not you? I thought you were supposed to be the best."

"Hmm," Thane took a sip of his tea. "I do take pride in my abilities, but I will never claim that I had no help in gaining them—Rayna would never allow it even if I tried. She taught me much and is formidable as well. In some ways I am better than she; in others, she is better than I. But what it really came down to was two things. Firstly, when our master joined the sea, I was not part of the Compact anymore. I could have joined them again, but for the second reason: I did not want to be tethered to Kahje. Rayna, like most of my race, is not terribly fond of leaving home; as such, she was the better fit. Also," he blinked and hummed. "She is a better teacher than I am. She has more patience."

Shepard cradled her cheek in the palm of her hand, leaning against her elbow on the table. "Why don't your people ever leave Kahje? I mean, you were the first drell I had ever seen. And besides Kolyat, I still haven't seen another one."

Thane blinked; he had never really thought about it in that way. He supposed his people were rather hermit-like, especially compared to the other races in the galaxy. Humans, more than most, were irrepressible explorers. It must seem odd to Shepard for a species to prefer to just… stay home. "An interesting question. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that it is because of our origins: we have always been strongly family-orientated. We lived and moved in tribes on Rakhana, and the preservation and safety of the tribe was of the utmost importance. We, perhaps, retain that attitude today. It makes us reluctant to leave our families for any extended period. That includes, of course, not merely our immediate family—our spouse, our children—but also extended family: parents, in-laws, sisters, brothers, and so on. In fact, those that do choose to leave their family behind, and you are right that there are few of us, are normally looked at askance."

Shepard pursed her lips, thinking about this, and Thane let her, content to let silence reign for a moment, taking a long drink from his tea—it was starting to get too cold. "But…" She started again, and Thane set his cup down to focus on her. "Okay, I don't want this to sound rude." Her eyes darted over his face like bright little fish. "But… you were taken away from your family. How does that work if family is so important? And I assume Rayna was taken from hers as well. I can kind of see why you would be fine with leaving because you had no familial ties, but what about her? Wasn't she in the same situation? What made her feel differently?"

Thane paused for a moment to wait for his translator to catch up with all of her rapid questions. And Shepard, for her part, waited patiently for him to process everything. "It is not rude, Shepard." He said finally. "I said before that I would tell you anything you wished. As for your first question, the Compact does not treat all of its volunteers in the same manner. We are not all assassins, I mean. There are few of us, actually, who are. The rest of those sworn to the Compact assist the hanar in different ways, and really, it is no different from any other job. They all continue to have their own families just the same as if they had not been sworn. But, those of us who are assassins… well, you must see why it is imperative that the child be separated from his family for the training period."

But Shepard shook her head, and Thane almost thought he heard a discontented hum rise from her throat. "That still makes me uncomfortable. We had something… well, I don't know if you would agree that it's similar, but we had child soldiers. You can read about it in the history archives. It was awful. Children have no business in war, in violence."

Thane had heard such objections often enough. Children were innocent, people said. Little ones must be protected from violence, they argued. And Thane even agreed with them, where Kolyat was concerned. He had read various treatises on the subject, denouncing his own fate, calling for an end to not just his service but the Compact altogether. Thane was considered a 'shadow child,' one of the few biotic children that the drell produced that were spirited away from their families and never heard from again. Thane, for his part, thought the whole argument was rather sensationalistic. "I… understand your reluctance to accept it. But it is truly the best way. Is there any difference, after all, in an adult killing someone rather than a child? The outcome is the same. What matters is the attitude, the motivation, of the assassin. And when a child is trained to think about death in a certain way, then the killings are completed with honor and a sense of duty—things usually missing in an adult with no such training."

Shepard opened her mouth, challenge apparent in the brilliance of her eyes, in the interlacing of her fingers as she rested her hands on the table. But then she simply sighed, shaking her head. "We're just going to have to agree to disagree."

Thane was not sure if he welcomed Shepard's refusal to debate the subject with him. He thought that she was, indeed, right—they most likely would not come to an agreement. But part of him still wanted to pursue the argument, not to change her mind but just to allow both of them to fully articulate their stances. He settled, however, for something less pointed. "Irikah felt the same as you. She argued that I held onto my position because I had to justify what was done to me. Perhaps that is true. Perhaps my training has become so ingrained in my mind that I will defend it regardless of it making sense. But…" He hummed, shrugging like she did. "I cannot seem to do anything else."

She was silent for a moment, her eyes distantly sad as they roamed over his face. Thane felt an uneasy rumble vibrate his chest; he did not want her pity. Her next words were soft, hesitant. "Do you ever wonder if you would have turned out differently if you had been left with your family?"

And before Thane could stop himself, his response came—short, clipped—and he could see Shepard wince a bit. "No. It is pointless speculation. I was not left with my family, so there is no use in dwelling on it." It wasn't that he did not want her to ask such things; he didn't really mind. It was more that he felt she was creating some vision of who he could have been in her head, and that very nearly offended him.

And perhaps it was a testament to how close they had become because she did not stop with her questions. She had an aim, apparently, and she would seek it out, knowing—or perhaps trusting—that he could not get  _too_  upset with her. "Why didn't you go back to your family when your training was complete?"

He tried to temper his voice now, to ease the irritation that had crept into it, and steer the conversation into waters that wouldn't provoke him nearly as much. "Ah, I can circle back to your previous question when I answer this. Most of us felt that the Compact had become our family. We were raised, after all, with the same group of students, and almost universally, the parents we had left behind never attempted to contact us."

"Never?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You don't think that the Compact withheld communication from you? To prevent your parents from trying to get you to come back home?"

She had to push it, didn't she? Thane let out an annoyed hiss. "What would be the point of that? I stress to you again that the Compact is considered an honor, and it is completely voluntary. If we had changed our minds, we could have freely gone. In fact, I knew a fellow student who chose to withdraw."

He paused for a moment, and she reached out to him, lightly pressing her fingers on his. "Thane, I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry. If I ever start asking about things that are none of my business, just tell me to shut up. It's okay. Sometimes I get too curious for my own good."

He turned his hand up, capturing her fingers with his, and in a moment—he was not sure which of them had decided to do it; it just happened—their fingers were entwined. Her grip was strong; her skin was smooth. He could feel his scales catch a little along the palm of her hand, and he blinked dark eyes at her, feeling her warmth seep into him. "There is no need to apologize, Shepard. I am quite serious when I say I will answer any and all of your questions. I..." He felt himself hum softly. "...enjoy your interest. If I am a bit more... hmm, sensitive about this particular line, it is because I have had to defend myself so very often. And, more importantly, I do not want you to think that I am some sort of... victim. I am not. I chose my path. To lay the blame at others' feet because of my decisions is irresponsible."

"I don't think you're a victim." She said softly, running her thumb—almost absentmindedly, it seemed—along his. "I just have a really hard time seeing the Compact in ways that aren't colored by my human experience. Perhaps it is my own bias, but... some things are morally universal, I think." She gave him a strained smile. "Like I said, we'll just have to agree to disagree."

Thane was not content, however, to let the issue lie permanently. They were adults; they could hold discussions on complex topics such as this one without coming to any sort of unpleasantness. "Maybe we can let the matter lie for tonight, si..." He gave a little cough, rumbling deeply. "Shepard. But, I like discussing such things with you. Would you mind continuing this later? Perhaps when we have both had time to consider what the other has said?"

She smiled at this, making her kelp eyes sparkle, and he felt his heart flutter inappropriately. "Sure. I'd like that. I'm not used to being around people mature enough to discuss their beliefs without getting all up in arms. It's refreshing."

"I think few people reach that level of maturity, unfortunately. I have always thought it was because they did not bother to educate themselves—to read—outside of their own little microcosm." He gave her hand a little squeeze, and felt his voice drop low and rough with a crooning edge. "I can tell you are a reader. I, too, have always loved to read—as a child I read anything I could get my hands on, and it is still one of my favorite activities to indulge in when I am not working."

She leaned forward, her tongue wetting her lips with a teasing pink. "Thane the bookworm? Adorable!"

But Thane cocked his head at her, humming his confusion. That image... was not flattering. "Book... worm?"

Shepard laughed low with a humming edge. "It's a term of endearment, I swear." But then she raked her eyes over him, her next words coloring the air with a curious violet, hints of mystery and curiosity. "You've led such a… strange life. I wish I could have known you before."

Thane felt himself mimic her, his own tongue wetting lips in an entirely human gesture, and he could feel her bright gaze drawn there, making his throat flush. "Do you think I was different than I am now?"

And, of course, her eyes dropped to the folds at his neck, which forced a little flustered trill from him. She smiled at the sound; she couldn't know what her gaze did to him, surely. "I don't know—were you?"

"You would have to ask Rayna for that. I am a poor judge of my own character." His words were rushed, nervous, and he took his hand back, feeling overwhelmed and confused. Arashu help him; he had no idea what he was doing... what  _she_  was doing. It was time to steer the conversation back to her. Let  _Shepard_  be the one who felt uncertain and on unsure footing for once during their night. "And your life has hardly been normal, Shepard. Perhaps that is why we get along. We both have unusual pasts."

She always turned to humor. "They should make vids out of our lives. We'd make millions."

And humor was fine with Thane. Jokes were far safer than kelp eyes at his throat and warm hands in his. "And who would play you? I rather doubt anyone could capture your unique personality."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "You mean my bitchiness?"

Thane pretended to think for a moment, leaning back in his chair. "You do have a certain… sharpness to you. It merely serves to make you more endearing, though."

"Who would you pick to play Thane Krios?" Her eyebrow arched in blatant challenge. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with drell actors."

"Do not bother yourself with them." He dismissed the entire lot with a wave of his hand. "On the whole they are rather disappointing." They were. Or, perhaps more accurately, Thane just didn't really like vids very much. He much preferred to read.

"So you'd play yourself? Arrogant!"

Thane shook his head, a small laugh escaping him. "I never said that. I would be even worse than they are. It would turn tragedy into comedy, surely."

Shepard chuckled at that, but then it dissolved into a yawn. "Oh, god, what time is it?"

"It is 0234 hours, Commander." EDI's soothing voice sounded overhead.

Shepard looked surprised at the immediacy of the answer. "Oh, thanks."

"Logging you out."

"Well," Thane stretched, rolling his shoulders and feeling several parts of his spine crack in a very satisfying way. "Are you getting to bed then, Shepard?"

"I think I have to." She stretched herself, arching her back, her shirt riding up her smooth stomach, revealing more little scars that Thane was suddenly desperately interested in. But she settled back down, tugging her shirt back into place, and Thane suppressed his hum of disappointment. "I wanted to be up in four hours."

He flicked his gaze back up to her kelp eyes. "Are you going to adhere to that, or are you going to sleep in?"

"Ugh, I am a masochist, so I'll probably be up." She groaned and stood up, taking both of their empty cups.

Thane stood with her, moving to empty the extra water from the kettle. "Then I will see you for breakfast?"

"Going to join us?" She washed one cup, then the other.

He laid the kettle upside down to let it dry. "If you are there, yes."

"Well, all right." Shepard put the cups in the dish rack. "I'll be up. We can share a plate of fruit… and yogurt?"

Thane hummed disapprovingly. "The yogurt is all yours."

She licked those lips of hers again. "I'll make sure to really enjoy it."

Thane shook his head, memories of the yogurt flashing behind his eyes. "I have no doubt that you will."

And then she seemed… awkward. Her eyes darted down to her feet, and a silence stretched between them. Thane blinked in confusion at her; why had the air suddenly changed? She rocked back and forth on her feet, seeming to hover on the edge of something. Finally, her words came in a strained ochre. "So… good night."

"Sleep well, Shepard." The smile she gave him was uncertain, but for all his confusion during the night,  _he_  knew one thing for certain—he wanted to pull her in for an embrace, to croon his affection for her against her throat, but he settled for a little bow before hurrying away, anxious to leave before things became too uncomfortable. For, while the night was largely a success, he knew that the relationship was still tentative enough that it could flicker and die.

But before he entered his room, he cast one last look over his shoulder. Shepard stood in the mess still, her arms wrapped around herself, face slightly pink, her coral mouth pulled into a strange little smile. And Thane smiled back—unseen though it was—before letting the door close behind him.

* * *

Thane liked getting into the washroom early. It meant that he would have to share it with few people—sometimes he had it all to himself. He was no stranger to communal bathing—when he was a student, everyone had to bathe together, but that was different. He didn't have to worry about being killed while naked and vulnerable amidst fellow students. It wasn't that he was terribly concerned about that happening here, but one could never be too careful.

So the ship still held that quiet hush of early morning (at least according to the ship cycles) when he rose to take advantage of the washroom, and he remained alone while he showered (there was no comfort quite like knowing that one had the first shower of the day), and it wasn't until he was brushing his teeth that the door opened and Zaeed and Grunt clamored in. Thane glanced behind him, his mouth currently too occupied to offer greeting, and rumbled his disapproval—one, or both, of them quite obviously needed to bathe… several days ago. His money was on Grunt. Krogan wore body odor like some sort of trophy.

Zaeed herded the young krogan before him, his scarred face twisted into a grimace. "You're gonna wash your goddamn self, kid. I am not gonna walk out of my room to smell your damn stench in the halls any more."

Grunt protested loudly that the blood of his enemies was an honor for Zaeed to smell before the older human shoved the krogan into the stall and flipped on the water. Thane rinsed his mouth. "Good morning, Massani."

"Morning Krios. Sorry about the racket. Damn kids don't know when to goddamn take a shower. Shut up!" He yelled back to the protesting Grunt. "The sooner you cut your yapping, the sooner you can wash up and get out." Grunt's laments quieted down into discontented murmurs as the smell of soap began rising from the steam of the water.

Thane smiled; Grunt obviously just wanted to be heard more than he actually protested taking the shower—he could have changed Zaeed and barreled out of the washroom, leaving carnage and destruction in his wake if he really wanted to. Sometimes children, even if they were fully grown pure-blooded krogan, just wanted to be fussed over.

He excused himself and ducked back into his room to put away his things, coming back out to the mess just in time to see Gardner putting out the first few plates of food; Thane grabbed a plate of fruit and a small bowl of yogurt, and turned around in time to see Shepard striding out, a smile lighting her face. "You remembered! Oh, wait… that was silly to say. Of course you did."

Thane hummed his greeting to her, pitching it high enough so that she could hear. "Regardless of its accuracy, the sentiment is appreciated."

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the other hand coming up to play with the edge of her collar, and Thane found himself once again thinking about how soft the skin of her throat must be when her voice broke into his fantasies. "I'll make some tea…"

"Hot water's ready for you, Commander." Gardner piped up, bringing out two mugs with tea bags already inside. "Here are your cups."

Shepard raised an eyebrow, catching Thane's eyes, who trilled his amusement as he sat down at the table. "Well, look at me, being too predictable."

She settled into the seat next to Thane, sliding his cup over to him. He murmured his thanks, shifted the yogurt over to her, and situated the plate of fruit between them both. "Now, Shepard. Tell me what these fruits are called."

She dug into her yogurt directly. "Most of them are melon." She said around a mouthful. "This is honeydew; that's cantaloupe. This is pineapple—that's not a melon. And these are grapes. Those aren't melons either."

"Which is your favorite?" Thane fished a piece of melon out and popped it in his mouth.

"Pineapple, definitely."

More of the crew members started wandering into the mess, and noise level rose considerably as several conversations started going at once. Thane closed his eyes, disappointed that the quiet had gone, when Shepard bumped her knee into his, getting his attention. "You don't have to be here if it makes you feel uncomfortable."

He sneaked his hand under the table and trailed a grateful touch down the top of her thigh, coming to rest at her knee. "Thank you for your consideration. But I would like to stay with you."

But she shuddered slightly under his fingers, her own hand shooting out to grab his. He thought, for a moment, that he had done something to upset her, that she was about to fling him off, but she held her hand there for a moment before taking it away again, and Thane withdrew his touch as well, just in case he had offended her. He tried to catch her eyes, but she stared down at her plate, her skin flushed and warm. "Shepard…"

"Commander!" Garrus flopped down in the chair opposite her. "How are you?"

Shepard looked up, a pleasant smile on her face, despite the pink suffusing her cheeks. "Fine. What are you up to today, Garrus?"

Garrus gave a few lazy clicks, his mandibles fanning slowly along his face. "Oh you know, the usual. The main gun isn't going to calibrate itself."

"Fascinating, as always."

"And you?"

"Nothing exciting." She shrugged, swallowing another mouthful of yogurt. "We're going to be at the Citadel again pretty soon, though. I'll be making the announcement, but feel free to spread it around."

"For any particular reason this time?"

"No. We just need some time, I think, before we finish this up."

"Sounds good."

And then Shepard looked over at Thane, who had just tried a piece of pineapple and discovered that he hated it, tugging on his arm a bit to pull him down. Her breath was warm in his ear as she whispered, "Try not to get staggeringly drunk with Kolyat again."

Thane rumbled, lips pulling up in a small smile as he turned to murmur back, "I make no promises."

Her laugh was low and almost secret, but Garrus flicked his glance between them, and Shepard seemed to suddenly think that she was leaning too close to Thane, and she straightened up a bit, clearing her throat. "Anyway, I'm planning on letting us have two days there. That should be plenty of time, right?"

Garrus fluttered his mandibles. "Yeah, sure."

Shepard coughed. "Also, I'm heading out on a mission with Samara soon. Did you hear?"

"Only a little. You're supposed to be the bait? No weapons?" Garrus shook his head. "Risky." Thane perked up at the information—he had not heard that particular detail.

But Shepard seemed unconcerned. "Yeah, that's the gist. I'll be in the dress again, so you don't want to miss it."

And Thane hoped for more details on the mission, but Garrus, frustratingly, turned to his usual quips, and Thane shoved more melon in his mouth to hide his disappointment. "Are you kidding? I need some more videos for my Shepard channel on the extranet. The hits are starting to die down."

"If I find out you're serious," Shepard gestured menacingly with her spoon. "You're going to have matching scars on the other side of your face to balance things out."

Garrus leaned back in his chair, looking quite smug. "Oh, don't worry, you won't. Tali helped me cover my tracks well enough."

Shepard must have kicked Garrus under the table, for he yelped and flinched away, and she laughed victoriously. And then the rest of the meal Shepard focused on conversation with others, but Thane did not mind. His leg leaned lightly against hers, and she made no move to pull away, her warmth seeping into his scales, making him relax enough that he crooned low and deep despite the noise of the crowd.

But her closeness, while pleasant, certainly wasn't the only thing on his mind. He did not want to pry, and indeed, it was none of his business, but the issue of Shepard going unarmed in any mission was deeply upsetting to him. And bait? What exactly did that mean? Was his Commander going to be put in some sort of dangerous situation, some sort of reckless mission as merely the temptation for one of their enemies? What could they possibly gain from that?

Thane did not know much about Samara. But she had seemed rather level-headed, calm and controlled. Surely such a plan must be dangerous only on the surface. Surely Samara would not risk their Commander falling in battle for something as mundane as personal business when the galaxy was at stake. The whole business of no weapons and acting as bait must be more complicated than it seemed—there was no way that Shepard would take that big of a risk...

Thane felt his chest vibrate with a deep rumble—one that luckily none of the others could hear. Yes she would. Of course she would. That was what Shepard did—foolishly rush into situations all for the cause of her people.

Thane would not make any sort of judgment, though, until he spoke with Samara. There must be more to this. And if there wasn't... well... there was no harm in offering suggestions for how to improve the mission. He considered speaking to Shepard, but dismissed that for the moment. Since the mission was personal for Samara, Shepard likely wouldn't feel comfortable sharing such information with him, which he respected. However, if he could get Samara to open up to him, then it would be a simple matter for them to both go to Shepard with a different plan.

Surely all of them could work together to complete this mission in the best, safest, and most efficient manner.

* * *

Thane was not able to pin down Samara for a couple of days. The asari was not only a very private person, but the upcoming mission had driven her to decide to refuse any visitors—she always gently turned Thane away with a promise to speak to him later.

It was a bit annoying.

But Thane had other things to distract himself with, unfortunately. Shepard seemed to seek him out every time she had a moment, and Thane spent each one of those moments enjoying himself immensely. But he also found himself unable to… separate himself from his feelings for her. He had wanted to keep himself satisfied with what they had—now that he had her at his side again, he was not willing to jeopardize their relationship with a renewal of his overtures… not yet. He had thought that simply having dinner together could bring no strangeness, no confusion. It was just a meal. How complicated could things get? But… she had pushed it…

 _"Don't you ever want more?" She asks, and she_ must _be unaware of how her words affect me; she cannot know how she torments me; she could not be that cruel. "Then why not pursue it?" Her voice is like steel tipped whips on my scales. "It's not like it's out of your reach." And she does not know how correct she is. She is right there, and her words make me want to grip her shoulders, bring her to me, and kiss her until she is breathless, bare her throat to my mouth and make her_ mine _._

She had disarmed him enough that he could not control his expression, could not control the sounds that rumbled from his chest. And if EDI had not intruded, he would have… well, he wasn't sure what he would have done. Some sort of revealing confession might have been part of it. He had started with saying that he would do much for her, but he had no idea how it was supposed to end. It would have likely been embarrassing. She probably would have been scared away again., and then they would be right back where they started.

And to compound the situation, Shepard herself was… She was not exactly working within the boundaries she had set up. She touched him with her soft fingers, murmured low words into his ear, looked at him with eyes that made him shiver inside. And what was he supposed to do with that? What was he supposed to do when she teased him… flirted with him, as Kasumi said it was? Was he supposed to just ignore it all? It was hardly fair. He had responded to her flirtation as much as he dared, but he felt as if he were in the same position as when they were on Illium, except now he feared that if he pursued her as she seemed to be hinting she wanted, she would reject him again, and all would come tumbling down as it did before.

Were all humans this frustrating? He was not experienced in the least with human romantic liaisons, but he had to believe that Shepard was some sort of exception. There was just no way all of them could be this confusing.

He turned to his usual outlet for these sorts of things—meditation—but it was largely useless as all he could think on was Shepard's delicately patterned skin, coral lips, and bright eyes. He tried reading, but he would find his thoughts drifting to  _her_ , wondering if she would like the book, thinking about how they could take turns reading to each other. He tried cleaning his guns, but he would find himself drifting off into inappropriate fantasies that would leave him simply sitting there, idle, while his guns were in pieces before him.

It was really sort of embarrassing.

But luck was with him in some small way because Samara finally messaged him, letting him know that she would see him. He had a vague feeling of being called into some sort of royal court—the Queen would now admit him. But at least it got him away from his room... and Shepard.

The door to Starboard Observation slid open, and Samara was seated in the middle, the pulse of her biotics spicing the air. Thane hovered near the entrance, half-closing his eyes as he took in the particular rhythm of her. Shepard had not placed them on the same team as yet, and Thane had never had the honor of feeling Samara's power. It seemed to get under and lift every single scale along his body—a sensation that he wasn't sure he liked. The room felt... close, heavy and full with her.

"Sere Krios." Her voice was like calm, deep water of unknown and black depths. "I apologize for keeping you waiting. I understand you have something you wish to speak to me about?" She did not rise from her position, and Thane supposed he was expected to go around to stand before her.

He chose to sit, however, sinking down with his legs tucked underneath him. "I thank you for giving me a moment of your time, Samara. I came to speak to you about your mission. I do not ask for personal details. However, I did want to discuss your chosen method."

She blinked icy eyes at him. "And what, specifically, did you want to discuss?"

Thane inclined his head toward her, turning up his wrists in his lap. "I understand that Commander Shepard is to be unarmed... and used to lure out dangerous enemies. Could you elaborate on this?"

Samara stared at some distant point behind him, and Thane suppressed the urge to look over his shoulder at whatever was more interesting that their conversation at the moment. "There is not much to elaborate on, Sere. I hunt an  _ardat-yakshi_. Shepard has agreed to lure her out so that I might finally put an end to her constant injustice. To do so, Shepard must be unarmed."

"Hmm. And, do you not think that this is... overly reckless?" Thane tried to pitch his voice in such a way that she could see that he meant no disrespect.

But he could feel the slight shift in Samara's biotics that betrayed a small wave of annoyance. "Regardless of what you or I think, Shepard has agreed to this. It is none of your concern, as it is none of mine."

Thane raised his wrists, offering them to her in apology. "I... understand that of course our Commander will make her own decisions. But must she make them without any additional input? We go to Omega to hunt your prey. There are always multiple approaches to targets there. It would severely minimize the risk to Shepard were we to take your target out from a distance with a sniper."

Her voice was still stern, almost disappointed. "And this approach would also increase the potentiality for civilian casualties."

Thane himself was annoyed that she believed he had not considered this. "If the shot is set up well enough, that risk would be negligible."

A delicate frown marred her features. "And yet the risk would exist all the same."

Thane lowered his wrists; it was time to be direct. "And so you are willing to risk the life of the one person who can stand against the Reapers?"

And the taste of the biotics shifted again, this time filling his senses with the tang of irritation and a hot hint of anger. "Yes. And apparently you, too, are willing to risk the lives of innocents for the life of your lover."

Thane felt himself settle into an aggravated stillness, and he closed his eyes. That wasn't true; that wasn't the reason why he approached her. She simplified the issue too much; there was more to it than that, and he did not appreciate the implication that he would callously disregard innocent life for his own personal gain. Samara's philosophy seemed uncomfortably binary, and Thane was irritated with the thought that she refused to see the complexity of the situation.

"Thane." Her voice had lost its edge, and the power in the room settled down to a soft fuzz. He heard Samara rise, and he opened his eyes to see her holding her hand out to him. "My words were meant to wound you, and that was unkind of me. Please accept my apologies."

He hesitated only a moment before taking her hand, allowing her to help him to his feet. "Apology accepted, Samara. I hope that you understand that my... concern is not just for myself."

"I do." She released his hand and stepped away from him to stare out at the stars. "And your admonitions regarding the mission tonight are not without their merits. Yet, this is the way it must be done."

Thane came up to stand beside her. "I do not understand  _why_  it must be done in this way."

Samara's face was a study in masks, perfectly blank, perfectly opaque. "I rather doubt that you have hunted an  _ardat-yakshi_. They are not so easily subdued. I do not discount your ability, Sere, and indeed in nearly any other situation you would be completely correct, but she is not only wary from _centuries_  of being hunted, she also almost certainly could not be taken with a single shot. And then I am sure you will have no difficulty imagining the bloodshed that would result from that—a wounded asari, powerful, angry, set loose in a room of innocents."

Thane hummed, still unconvinced. "You speak from experience? You have tried this method and had these results?" But then, for the barest second (he could have thought that he imagined it if he did not have the memory to review) that mask flickered, and Thane saw something that made him nearly flinch away—such heavy sorrow, such crippling regret. And he was struck with the sudden realization that this was  _personal_  for Samara. Who was this  _ardat-yakshi_?

He could not control his expression nearly as well as she could (her own moment of weakness could only be attributed to the connection—whatever it was—she had with the mission), and she snapped her gaze over to him. "What is it you think you know, Sere?"

Thane hesitated, but the pull from her pale, glacier eyes was such that he felt the words being almost dragged from him. "She is someone important to you. There is more to this mission than you let on."

Samara closed her eyes, a dark void around her, cold, terrifying in its emptiness, and Thane hummed uneasily, a fine shudder running through him, forcibly reminded that he stood in the presence of someone who had lived for nearly a thousand years. "You are correct." She finally, simply, said. "She is my daughter."

And Thane felt as if the ground dropped out from underneath him.

He stopped himself from reaching out to her only because he knew she would not want his pity. He felt, now, her complete and utter ruin. It was more than merely tactics to her, though he doubted not that she was right about the strength of her daughter. It was that, almost perversely, killing family could not be done at the end of a scope. Emotions had to be exchanged, final thoughts imparted. She needed to see her daughter one last time.

The silence was oppressive, stifling with hundreds of years of concentrated pain. He opened his mouth to offer words, however pale and inadequate they might be, just to break that silence, but he never got to because at that moment, the doors slid open to reveal Shepard.

Thane snapped his gaze around, startled by her sudden arrival and disarmed by the fact that she was in that dress again, her pale arms and legs exposed, the delicate scars winding their way around her soft skin and disappearing under the hem of her dress. In any other circumstance, he would have appreciated his siha's beauty, and indeed, he did find himself distantly admiring her, but... with the knowledge he had now... He could only look at her with a growing sense of dread. His imagination ran wild with thoughts of Shepard being alone with this killer; somehow knowing that she was Samara's daughter made things worse. He now pictured someone as cold and calculated as the justicar, a violent and disturbed asari with all of the power and control of her mother and nothing holding her back from killing innocents.

And Shepard was going in there alone.

More than that, she was going in there alone and in that  _dress_ , baring herself for this villain, exposing herself with no means to defend herself. He felt nearly sick to his stomach at the thought of it—his siha, her eyes with those darkened edges, making them seem larger and brighter, and her slick, wet mouth, reddened and swollen. She accentuated her features in such a way as to make her almost irresistible, and it was for this asari, for this _ardat-yakshi_. He felt himself give a low, dark rumble of worry, eyes lingering over all the beautiful details of her that would serve only to put her into _more danger_.

"Everything all right, Thane?"

Shepard's pierced his mind, and he felt his frill darken, irrationally wondering if she could have known his thoughts. He blinked and cast his eyes to the ground, trying to regain his composure. "Ah... yes." He refocused his thoughts, trying to pull them away from their ineffectual fretting, taking her in again with quick, surreptitious glances. Shepard held herself with an unease that was different from the last time she wore the dress. Oh, of course there was the element of self-consciousness, but it was more than that. Shepard was unhappy with the mission itself. Something about it made her uncomfortable, uneasy. Did she disagree with the methods as well? Or, more likely, was it something else?

And then Samara, with her cool, controlled words (oh, he remembered a time when he could always be that detached, that blessedly removed), led Shepard out, and Thane was left in the room alone with a tense trepidation coiling in his stomach.

His siha would come back to him. Arashu would not forsake Her own. Nevertheless, merely a few moments after the doors had closed behind Shepard and Samara, Thane took himself back to his room, settling in the middle of the floor to offer prayer to Arashu and Amonkira.

The songs filled his throat, and the pleas to the divine whispered in his thoughts. " _Amonkira, Lord of the Hunt, let my siha's aim be true and her feet swift; grant her victory and a clean kill. Arashu, Shield of the Innocent, protect Your angel as she fights to serve Your will, and what grace I have, let it pass to her so that she might come home to me whole and safe._ "

Part of him felt that the prayer was unnecessary. Shepard could take care of herself; her strength was such that she needed no one. But the other part felt as though if he could not be there to defend her that it would be his fault if something happened—he would lose someone else because he was  _not there_.

And then, of course, would the gods even  _listen_? They hadn't... before. He had prayed every time he left home to keep his Irikah and Kolyat safe. They had not listened  _then_. But what other choice did he have than to rely on their mercy? On their strength? And so he went through eleven complete prayer cycles before EDI announced that the Commander had returned and Miranda was relieved.

His murmured thanks to all that was Holy was quiet, but he knew that, for once, they had heard.

* * *

 **A/N:**  So, I've started working on the next chapter. It shouldn't take as long. I hope. I always say that, I know.

My beta deserves extra special thanks this time for helping me work out some sticky spots. She is the best, and I love her to squishy, happy pieces. ^_^


	17. Fragments I Have Shored against My Ruins

He saw Shepard only briefly when she returned, but that one moment was enough to send a rushing flood of relief through his limbs, so much so that he nearly felt unsteady on his feet, and he gave a high, fluting trill for her. She seemed fine—no wounds, no injuries. He murmured another thanks to the gods under his breath for bringing her home to him safe and… whole.

No, not quite whole.

She had walked away not just from him but from everyone else, a frown marring her shell-white face. She scented the air with something uncomfortable and disturbed, undercurrents of smoke and sweat and sex and suspicion. It was, of course, the prevalent smell of Omega, but it was wrong on her, perverse and unsettling. It seemed to underscore her unhappiness, and she moved as if she were uncomfortable in her own skin, her gait uneasy and halting. Garrus had intercepted her first, clicking his greeting to her, but she had ducked away from his friendly touch, murmuring excuses, and, without even sparing a glance at Thane or the confused and worried Garrus, she slipped into the lift and took herself away to her cabin.

Thane padded up to stand beside the turian, who was scratching at his flattened crest unhappily. "Now what do you suppose is wrong with her?"

Thane hummed at the taller man, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "A good question." Thane hesitated; if Garrus didn't know why Samara and Shepard had gone to Omega, he wasn't going to be the one to tell him.

"Samara made herself scarce too. But I suppose that's pretty normal for her."

"True." But Thane could not help but remember the broken, pale eyes in the asari's face, and he hummed sorrowfully. If the mission was successful, then Samara would be mourning the death of her daughter tonight... and alone. How would Thane have felt if he had come back from the Citadel with Kolyat's blood on his hands? His heart seized with a sharp grief—even imagining his son's death seemed to tear him apart. And Samara faced that reality in isolation. But even as his feet wanted to carry him to Starboard Observation to offer comfort, he knew that he would not be welcomed. Samara was a solitary creature, and she found a peace in her Goddess that could not come from mere mortals such as himself.

But how had such a death affected Shepard? If her quick exit was any indication, then she was not handling it very well either. It would have been a different type of mission—one could distance oneself from a kill when the victim was not seen as someone with a family, someone who was loved. It would be very easy for this to seem like murder. And by her own admission—that conversation they had seemed a lifetime ago now—she had no faith to fall back on, no comfort in the divine. She only had herself. And sometimes the self could be a vicious enemy.

There was silence between Thane and Garrus for a moment, and even though they both shared worries, the silence itself was a comfortable one—they came together over a mutual affection for the Commander, and while otherwise they might have interacted minimally with each other, Thane felt for the first time that they might, one day, be friends and not merely colleagues. They had one thing in common, at least.

Finally, Garrus looked over at him, and Thane flicked his gaze up to see the turian's mandibles fluttering thoughtfully. "You should go up and find out what's wrong."

Thane gave a hesitant hum, rocking back and forth on his heels. "It seems as though she did not want to talk to anyone. We should respect that."

"Hey," Garrus drawled, blinking slate blue eyes. "You might be getting cozy with her, but I still have the advantage of knowing her longer. She withdraws from people when she's upset, but that's precisely when she needs people the most. She'll appreciate you going up there."

"Why me?"

"She talks to you more." He said simply. "I don't know how you inspire so much confidence, but she obviously finds you easier to talk to." He looked over at Thane slyly. "And I would have thought you'd want to go." Thane just blinked at him, and Garrus let out a small chuckle. "Fine, be mysterious. Are you going up there or not?"

And Thane was quiet for a few moments while he thought about it. He  _did_  want to go up there. He knew she needed someone, just as he knew she did when she retreated into the washroom. He had followed her in  _then_. He supposed his reluctance now had to do with something more along the lines of him not wanting to accidentally cross any boundaries... but Garrus was likely right. She would appreciate the thought, even if she ultimately asked for solitude. It was better to make the attempt and be turned away than to not go to her when she might need someone to talk to."I will, but in a few moments. She will likely want to change her clothes."

"Good thinking." Garrus nodded. "Let me know if she's okay."

So, Garrus left, apparently satisfied that his Commander was in good hands, and after several moments of tidying up an already tidy kitchen, Thane went to Shepard's cabin with the purely innocent and altruistic intent of simply talking to her, finding out what had troubled her so about the mission.

Things had a way of never turning out quite the way he planned them.

* * *

It was almost funny how rapidly situations had seemed to shift in his life lately. He had come on board the Normandy with little to no affection for the Commander—he'd thought her brash and borderline immoral, enjoying the kill far too much for his taste, and he had filed her away in the mental drawer most of his employers got put into: People He Just Had to Tolerate. Then, before he had even really understood what was happening to him, he had, at some point, taken her out of that category and put her in the much less crowded drawer of People He Liked a Bit, and then from there, she had made a hop into the nearly empty drawer of People He Considered Friends. And now... Well, he wasn't even sure what category she was in  _now_. He did know, however, that he wanted to see her, and that was a simple enough desire that it could be pursued and fulfilled with very little thought behind it.

However, when she had let him into her room, one of the first things he laid eyes on was not her, but—almost perversely—his mind drew his gaze straight to her desk… where that picture of Alenko still remained. He had snapped his eyes away from it and had enough composure to steady his expression, but it… had… well, he wasn't quite sure if what he had felt was hurt, disappointment, jealousy, or perhaps some strange mixture of all of those that didn't have a word in his language with which to define it. It had occurred to him that perhaps Shepard was… perhaps she had never seen him in the same serious light that he saw her. Humans were fickle, after all. He knew enough about them for him to accept that as a general truth. Maybe he was just a distraction, a way to pass the time until she could repair her relationship with the one who really mattered.

Yet… when he had looked over at her—soft and slender in her sleep attire—he found that he just… didn't care. What did it matter if she saw him as only a fling? He was dying anyway. He could never be something permanent in her life. Perhaps he could just take what she would give him, be happy about that brief instance, and then move on. It was unfair of him, after all, to expect anything more for a dying man.

However, that had not been the main reason he was there.

So, he had focused his attention on her, questioning her gently about her night, narrowly avoiding an outright argument with her (which was something he had definitely not anticipated but that he accepted as another instance of the stubborn, dense nature that had always disappointed Irikah), and, after being caught up to the point of inattention, had neglected to watch his words and called her siha. He had thought for a moment that it might be a disaster—what if she thought it was silly, what if she was offended by his faith—but she had… Her scent had tickled his nose, shy and curious and… affectionate.

And he had suddenly been painfully aware of how warm and wet she was from her shower, sharp spikes of need and want shuddering through his scales. He could see droplets of water like pearls slide down her pale throat, and it was all he could do to stop himself from tilting her head back and licking a hot trail up her neck, catching all of that sweet water on his tongue. And she…

_"Will you hear a confession?" I breathe, hardly knowing what I am saying. She looks down, but her scent fills my mouth, sits sweetly on my tongue, and I cannot stop one hand from reaching up to her, nearly trembling with the need to just touch her, just once… And then she leans back, exposing her throat to me, her body tensing, her breath coming out in a sigh, and I feel almost dizzy with the sudden, blinding rush of desire. My name is soft and silken on her lips, "Thane…"_

When she had tilted her head back to bare herself to him, he had not been able to stop his breath from tripping over itself, and the only thing that prevented him from taking her up on her invitation was that she might not have meant it in the way he saw it, in the way any drell would see it: a plea for biting kisses and hot, ragged breaths.

But she had not run away as she did before.  _"What do you want from me?" Her words are soft and gentle, and the low sound of her voice helps quiet the wild racing of my heart. "From this?" I bite back my instinctive answer—everything—and demurely offer her a way out… but she does not take it._ And they had finally had an open, honest conversation about what he meant to her, about what she meant to him. And when he had touched her soft cheek— _I can barely believe my audacity, but I cradle that delicately patterned face in my hand nonetheless, and I am rewarded by her bright eyes looking up at me with a plea to continue. She leans into my touch, and I can almost imagine a soft, crooning purr coming from her pale throat_ —and brushed his fingers against her wrist— _her pulse beats wildly under my fingers, and I am shot through with an almost crippling longing when I feel that the same beat of desire dances on her skin_ —she had not shied away, she had not rejected him.

And so now, things… well, he supposed that things were different between them. She had finally settled herself into an entirely different category, a dizzying one that shifted between affection and desire, trembling on the edge of something deeper and... almost frightening in its intensity.

The change wasn't overt. They weren't sneaking off for secret trysts in a corner. It was more like the tension that had sat between them had finally lifted. He did not have to worry any more about crossing some sort of line, and whatever fear of intimacy that had claimed her seemed to no longer have any hold over her mind. It was a relief while simultaneously making him feel almost giddy—the restraints were finally gone, and he felt as though he had something completely new and precious to explore, and he  _could not get enough_.

She had said that she still needed some time to come to terms with this, which he was fine with. It was enough to know that she was his, at least for a little while. And she seemed to claim him for her own as well, in her strange, human way, linking their hands, leaning close to him to brush her hip and thigh against his.

And he claimed his touches as well.

His ears were always tuned to her step now, to her voice, to the hushed sounds she made as she moved through the Normandy. He could know it was her by the first step she took off of the lift, and even though he was drifting on the edges of meditation, her soft footstep was his anchor to the world, tugging him back from the patterns of the ethereal divine and holding him to something physical and transient in a way that almost reminded him of old stories with a severe lesson at the end.

But like those fated characters, he scattered caution like grains of sand, perhaps knowing of his ultimate doom, but stubbornly not caring, flying headlong into the fires of the sun and laughing as he burned.

He stepped silently into the mess; his siha stood with her back to him, making a late night meal for herself, and he took a moment just to watch her, appreciating the easy way in which she held herself, weight on one foot, the other foot balanced on her toes, one sleeve of her tank top slipping down her shoulder, resting on her arm—deceptively slender, hiding a strength that thrilled him. He slipped behind her; he could feel her awareness in the way the air changed around her, and he laid both of his hands on her shoulders, trailing them down her arms to let them rest just above her elbow. She leaned back into his touch with a fluttering sigh, her back against his chest. Thane found himself almost curling into her, his mouth close to her ear. "Siha…"

And she shivered in his arms, making him smile. Her voice was full, low, drawing out an answering rumbling growl from him. "Hungry, Krios?"

He tightened his hold on her, pulling her against him, delighting in the small gasp that caught in her throat. "You have no idea."

Shepard laughed, her face flushed, eyes dark as she twisted around in his grip. "Well, I'm making some eggs and toast. Do you eat eggs?"

Thane stepped back from her, smiling as he sniffed the air, tasting the scent of her dinner. "I have eaten eggs. I doubt they were from the same creature."

"Probably not." She turned around, flipping the heat off and grabbing a plate. "Get the toast for me, will you? I'll share, and if you like it, I'll make you some."

"Mmm. They smell good, at least." Thane did as he was told, sucking in his breath as the hot pieces of bread singed the tips of his fingers, quickly dropping them on her plate.

He watched as Shepard slid her eggs onto the plate next to her bread, taking a seat next to her when she settled at the table. "Are you out here for any particular reason? It's pretty late."

"I heard you." Thane said simply, folding his hands on the table. Shepard busied herself by dividing up her eggs with a fork. "I wanted to see you. You were busy today."

She stopped, grinning up at him. "Miss me?"

Thane trilled back at her. "Desperately."

Her smile was something tender and sweet, her eyes sparking with effervescent happiness. "We'll take a vacation together when this is all done. Some place we can relax. We won't have to work, and we can just lie about all day."

Thane crooned low for her, reaching up to smooth her hair out of her brilliant eyes. "That sounds delightful."

She caught his hand in hers, pulling his fingers in front of her face so she could examine the fused ones in the middle. She looked at him over the tips of his fingers. "Any place in particular that you want to see?"

Thane thought for a moment, trying not to be too distracted by how she traced the tender skin between his middle digits. "I would really like to see… a desert."

She flipped his palm up, apparently quite content to examine him minutely, tracing the smoother scales on his palm with a finger. "Earth has some great ones—or so I'm told. Didn't you say you'd never been there?"

"Yes." He let out a rumble of disappointment when she dropped his hand to scoop up a forkful of eggs. "We should go there. I have seen pictures of your deserts. They are beautiful."

She grimaced, her nose wrinkling. "I'm going to be burned to a crisp. I don't tan; I fry."

"Ah, siha, do not fret. I shall be sure to apply ample lotion to your skin."

She propped her arm up on her elbow, the fork of eggs temporarily forgotten. "So I'll be fried and greasy."

Thane blinked at her, a rough note darkening his reply. "Slippery."

And she heard it, if the way she bit her lip was any indication. "Too slippery for you to hold?"

"I will enjoy the challenge."

Shepard threw her head back and laughed; Thane rumbled his appreciation for the smooth, long column of her neck. "Are you up for the challenge of tasting these eggs?" The fork was now recalled once again. "It's not spicy like the Thai, I swear."

"Pinky swear?"

And Shepard grinned, eyes sparking with amusement. "Gonna use a bunch of humanisms now, Thane? Are we hairy little primates winning you over?"

"Just you, siha. I doubt I could tolerate this much hair on anyone else."

She stuck a pink tongue out at him. "Oh, well, thank you. You're so kind."

"My mother always said to be very polite to strange, soft, hairy outsiders."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Shut up and eat these eggs."

"As my siha commands." And he took the fork from her, chewing the bite thoughtfully as he decided whether or not he liked it. "It is..." She tilted her head, silently asking him to hurry up. "Good." He pronounced. "Very good. I like them."

"Oh, that's a relief." She took the fork back from him, leaning back in her chair. "Because I was debating on whether or not to tell you that I scrambled milk in them too, but..."

He felt all of his thoughts on eggs and otherwise come screeching to a halt. " _What_?" Thane gaped at her in unrestrained horror. " _Why_  did you..."

But Shepard nearly fell off of her chair laughing, steadying herself with a hand on his knee. "Oh, god, Thane! Your  _face_! I'm kidding, just kidding, no milk I swear."

Thane leaned back in  _his_  chair, an irritated rumble vibrating his chest as he looked at his siha under half lowered eyelids. "You are a terrible person, Shepard."

"Oh come on." She hooked her foot around his ankle playfully. "You love it."

He couldn't suppress the smile that tugged up his lips. "You promise that there is no milk?"

She raised a solemn hand. "I swear on the Normandy's soul. I don't see why you're okay with eggs, though, and not milk."

He mimicked her human shrugs. "It is fairly simple to understand. One is tasty and nutritious, and the other is perverse and unnatural."

She shook her head, rolling her green eyes once again. "You are incredibly strange."

He moved closer to her now, and her eyes darkened as he approached, and she licked her lips. "Come on." Thane smiled and felt his voice drop to a growling murmur. "You love it."

Her fluttering gasp tripped its way down his scales, and for a moment, their eyes locked in an almost painfully intimate way, and her hand came up to hover hesitantly near his chest, as if unsure if she wanted to pull him closer or push him away. And then tentative fingers traced the edge of the zipper on his vest, and all he wanted her to do was take it in her slight fingers and  _pull_...

But she jerked away, suddenly shy, her face a bright pink. "I... so... you like the eggs? Uhm. I can make you some more?" She stood up, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, shifting her weight from foot to foot as if she wanted to go somewhere but she was trapped.

Thane, for his part, stayed seated for a moment longer, trying to calm the blood boiling through his veins. He shifted in his chair, trying to gain some... relief. "No, thank you."

"Are you sure? You aren't hungry? Because I can make you something..." She turned around, hair flying about her head, opening up cupboards in a seemingly random sequence. "There's gotta be something here..."

"Siha." Thane finally stood, gripping her forearms in steady hands. "Sit. Would you like some tea? I would like nothing more than a cup right now. And you would too, I imagine. I will make it while you eat. Your food is getting cold."

Shepard closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Yeah." She opened them again, fixing him with a small smile. "Thanks. There's nothing worse than cold scrambled eggs."

She settled back in her seat while Thane prepared the kettle. "Indeed." And the desire that had flared brightly between them settled once again into a distant smolder, the tea playing its role, as it had many times, as mediator between them. The rest of the evening proceeded without any snags, and as they said good night to each other at the lift, Thane found himself almost disappointed by the  _lack_  of snags. He rather enjoyed them.

But then, as he turned away to retire to his quarters, he heard her quick, light steps behind him, and then suddenly her slender arms were around his waist, her breasts pressed firmly into his back. He could feel her hot breath at the base of his neck, and he let out a strangled groan, everything that had stayed simmering in the background roaring to life again as he covered her hands with his, stopping himself from pushing them  _lower_.

"Thanks for everything, Thane." Her mouth was warm and  _so close_  to his throat.

"Ah... yes... you are... hmm... welcome."

She said something else that he couldn't really pay attention to, distantly aware of himself nodding in reply, for all he could think about was  _her_ , claiming her mouth with his, sliding his hands up her shirt to feel the thin thread of scars, hoisting her up to press her against the bulk head, her name a strangled sound on his lips as she wrapped her legs around his hips...

And then she was gone, and he said something polite and socially acceptable, and somehow he was back in his room, head spinning,  _reeling_ , and wondering how he could ever be expected to stop himself from kissing her until they were both panting for air if she kept tuning the already taut strings of his control ever tighter.

It was going to be far too difficult to get to sleep.

* * *

But happiness was always short-lived. In a flash of events had that moved far too quickly for him to really process, they were suddenly at the end of things. They had a geth aboard the Normandy (while Legion was certainly polite and interesting to talk to, it was really the last thing that Thane had expected), and then Shepard blamed herself for the unavoidable deaths of more geth (a sentiment that he had never expected anyone on this side of the Perseus Veil to admit to having, and one that had made Thane adore Shepard even more), and then one moment they had a full crew, and the next they were left only with a mournful, self-loathing Joker.

And then they were going to the Omega-4 relay.

The last several days had been a blur, with only a few memorable events, one of which was the embarrassing revelation that out of the two of them, Thane had been the only one perverted enough to watch the videos that Mordin had sent (oh, how he had wanted to snap that salarian's neck in that moment). But Shepard had no time for him anymore—she was pulling together their final mission with single-mindedness that nearly frightened him. Her focus was such that she could be distracted by nothing, and she seemed to barely eat, much less sleep. And he could do little more than watch her as the guilt over losing her crew ate away at her already patched and fragmented soul.

The halls of the Normandy were silent, the hum of the engines seeming unnaturally loud. The mess was always empty now; Gardner was no longer there to make the meals, so the normally scheduled meal times fell into disuse. Chakwas' ringing laughter could no longer be heard from the medbay, and Kelly's secret smile and natural ease no longer greeted him at the entrance of the CIC. And while he had rarely gone down to Engineering, he missed the sound of the engineers' gossiping and good-natured arguments during late night sessions at cards in the crew quarters.

None of the remaining crew talked to each other anymore. Everyone seemed to be keeping to their respective quarters, as if moving out amongst the common areas was almost disrespectful to the missing. Thane himself only ventured out once a day to get a supply of water, tea, and several packets of fruit and nuts to tide him over.

Normally Thane would have welcomed the silence. Normally Thane would have appreciated the quiet rumble of the machines around him, his thoughts never pierced by the speech of another, never startled by sudden laughter. But... things were different now. He was, he supposed, used to being around people. And the absence of the crew—people he had come to tolerate, even like in a way—made him feel almost sick with dread. What were they facing? What were the Collectors doing to them?

And any fears that he had, he knew that Shepard must be feeling them tenfold. She, who looked on her crew as more than just her charges, but as _family_ , must be nearly dying inside with worry. But every attempt on his part to comfort her was met only with a terse smile, a light touch to soften her words, and a promise to talk to him later. Always later.

But even as his thoughts spun around, quietly frantic with images of the horrors the crew might be facing, he knew that if they had any chance at all of recovering them, Shepard would find it. And, after a little over a day of preparation, Shepard made the ship-wide announcement that they were going through the Omega relay, with details on the mission to follow.

Shepard's voice sounded like a death knell.

Thane settled on his bed after the announcement, his thoughts full of those he was leaving behind: Kolyat, Rayna, Lelaka... What if Thane didn't make it? What if he never saw them again? He had been fine with death before. He had accepted it as something that not only was looming on the horizon but also as welcome as an old friend—he had eluded the embrace of death for so long that it seemed almost a relief to stop the chase, sit down, and just... let it happen.

But now...

Now Shepard, with her words and her kindness and her affection... now he...

He thought on his death and felt an ice cold wave of despair wash over him. He had been  _stupid_. Stupid for ever thinking that his purpose was to just _give up_ , to abandon those who had meant the most to him and spiral down his own, selfish path that admitted nothing except his own surrender.

He  _wasn't ready_.

Not yet, not now when he had Kolyat in his life again. Not now when he realized he had never been truly alone, not when he had family like his son and Rayna and Lelaka. Shepard stood in his thoughts like a beacon in a storm, showing him the way, guiding him past the jagged rocks of his own self-destruction into a warm harbor—it had always been there, but he had needed her guidance to finally reach it.

Why was it that only now, at the end of things, he had this realization? Why couldn't he have realized it before? He had driven himself into a self-imposed exile for  _ten years_ , and the entire time he could have been surrounded, not by his own broken thoughts and fragmented dreams, but the wholeness of those he cared for the most.

He pulled up his omnitool, recording messages for them all that were nearly trite in their brevity, but what else could he offer? What does one say when it might be goodbye? What could he say to ease the minds and hearts of his son, of his sisters? He tried to think about what  _he_  might want to hear, and he could think of nothing. There was... nothing.

His son's, of course, was the most difficult of all, knowing the amount of anger with which the message would probably be heard. "Kolyat, there is nothing I can say, I am sure, to make you understand the necessity of the danger I now throw myself in, but know that it is  _for you_. I love you more than words can express, and you have made me so  _very_  proud. I promised that I would return to you, and if it is within my power, I will. I have so many more things I want to share with you, to tell you. You are the reason I fight now. You are what drives me to return. Be safe, son, be strong, and take care of your aunt."

And with Lelaka in his mind, he brought up another message for her. "Sister, I... am sorry. You are angry with me, I know, and this message will probably come as a surprise to you after so many years of silence. I am going away on a mission that I might not... come back from. But I wanted to thank you—for everything you've done for me and Kolyat, and I wanted to say that I am sorry for... for what happened to Irikah. I know that I took away more than a sister to you. I am sorry. If I return, I hope you are not so angry that you will refuse my company? I know this is the worst time to ask, and I only hope that you forgive the stubborn nature that used to vex Irikah so. I never learned, I suppose. I hope we can see each other soon."

And finally, Rayna, who was perhaps the easiest, as she would be the only one who, while she might not agree with him, would certainly understand him. "Rayna. I am leaving for the Omega-4 relay. You know what that means. I am assured that I will come back, but... that might not happen. You will probably be fairly annoyed with me for a little while for not including you, but I hope that you will get past that and look after Kolyat and Lelaka for me. Even if I do return, I would surely appreciate you devoting some resources to them. I know we have not spoken much over the past several years, and I apologize for that. Let us change that if I come back, and after you are done being mad. My thoughts and love are with you, and may Arashu keep you safe in your missions."

And, the messages done, he set them for a delayed release, several hours from then. He thought that recording them might offer some measure of closure, of peace, but the messages did nothing to ease his mind.

He tried going back to that quiet place, that place where he had been  _content_  with his impending death, where he had  _welcomed_  the embrace of Kalihira, and the promise of reunion with his sweet, lovely Irikah. He thought on her now,  _her eyes catch the sunlight, and she smiles, winds rippling through her robes and pulling them tight around her slender form_ , the times they had shared,  _we laugh and duck underneath an awning to avoid the sudden downpour, and then her mouth is on mine, and I taste the rain on her lips as she runs slick fingers down my throat_ , even their arguments,  _"I'm not budging on this, Thane. No compromise. He's not going. That's it. And if you don't like it, if you hate it that much, well, you know where the door is. No son of mine is going to be a killer." She slams the bedroom door in my face, and I press trembling fingers against it as I hear her start to cry on the other side_.

He  _missed_  her.

And there had been a point when all he had lived for was to see her again, to be reunited with her across the sea, to take her in his arms once more and say how  _sorry_  he was, and hope that she still loved him, that she had, despite how he had wronged her, forgiven him. He still wanted that now, but...

Not yet.

Oh, Arashu help him,  _not yet_. His thoughts turned to Shepard, and he smiled despite himself at how much Irikah would have loved her, at how much he...

How much he loved her.

It was not as shattering a realization as he thought it should have been. It was more like this quiet acceptance of something that he had carried in his heart for quite sometime but was only now acknowledging. He loved Shepard. His siha. He loved her as much as he loved Irikah—love was not finite, love was not something that was measured and doled out, but something that went on and on like the gods themselves, unstoppable, unfathomable.

Her name was a whispered prayer on his lips, and he leaned back against the wall, mind and body suffused in a warmth that made every single part of him sing in contentment and happiness. He felt, irrationally, as though the moment would never end, that he could stay in this perfect state of balance forever, and nothing painful would ever touch him again.

But, in the next minute, that feeling was gone.

He was suddenly hit by the horrific recollection that this night might be his last. His last with her, his last  _alive_ , and the momentary peace that had comforted him was fragmented into shards that he could not piece back together.

And it was not just his death that tormented him now. It was  _hers_. His imagination supplied him with a liberal amount of images of his siha bleeding, dying, crying out in pain, and he would be helpless in the face of it... And then, what of his own death, seeing her shell face crumble in his last moments, knowing he could offer no comfort to her?

For the first time in many, many years, he was  _afraid_.

He had felt the tentative beginnings of regret before he had recorded the messages, but it was nothing compared to now. His hands trembled in his lap, and any attempt at finding peace through meditation was drowned in his own cacophonous thoughts of fear and sorrow and shame. He should be at peace. He had worked so hard for this moment, his last moment, so that he might embrace the sea willingly and with a clear heart, but now he knew fear so strong that he felt his eyes nearly well up from the force of it, and he let out a strangled growl, frustrated at himself and too weak to do anything about it.

His mind spun in useless circles, high, distraught hums clawing out of his throat, his fear a chilly, dark  _living_  thing that wrapped frost-licked talons around his heart and  _squeezed_... when his thoughts finally landed on one thing.

Shepard.

He had to see her. He was in no state for conversation, but he didn't care. He had no idea what he would say to her; perhaps he would just sink down to his knees before her and cry out for whatever measure of peace and absolution that she could give him. But, there was no other option. He needed her like he needed the cool balm of water, peaceful, calming, healing. She was as essential to him as the air itself.

Thane's feet took him to her door, his thoughts too jumbled to even really register that he should have knocked, stepping quickly through. Their eyes met immediately—bright kelp to his dark seastones—and her clear brow knitted immediately with worry, her voice coming to him like the sweet, almost mournful call of seabirds, entreating him, pulling him.

"Thane…"

* * *

 **A/N:**  OH GOD. One more after this! Are you freaking out? BECAUSE I AM FREAKING OUT.


	18. Shantih, shantih, shantih

**A/N:**  Please be aware that this chapter, toward the end, edges a bit into an M rating. Nothing too explicit, but there you go.

* * *

_"Be alive with me tonight."_

Shepard's words echoed through his head, became a kind of mantra he chanted under his breath with each life that he took. Things had moved quickly since their night together, shooting through the Omega relay, fighting off Collector defenses, and making a rather ungraceful landing on the Collector base itself. And now Thane clutched his weapon in his hand, running alongside Shepard as they forged ahead deeper into the base, but with each step he took...

" _Be alive with me tonight._ "

Such simple words, but they had been a prelude to something so much deeper, more complex, more meaningful, than anything he had ever experienced. He suppressed the vivid – oh so very, very vivid – memories in the interests of focusing on the battle at hand, but that phrase lingered still in his ears, on his lips. It was an entreaty, a declaration of love, an  _absolution_  of the guilt and anger that had seemed heavy enough to crush him. And now, in the heat of a firefight, it was a paean to life itself, to the decision to fight for more than just an honorable death.

The life he lived now and the pale imitation of life that he had mocked the gods with before he had met Shepard were a stark contrast in his head. His blood sang with his newly found purpose, with the unfettered joy and ecstasy he found in knowing that he was  _alive_.

Life meant so much more than simply moving through the day, mechanically eating, drinking, completing assignments. He had thought that his purpose extended to nothing else, and now... He looked to his siha, her countenance brilliant with ferocity, jaw set, kelp eyes flashing as her biotics crackled around her. He had found what it meant to be alive last night, with her, in her arms. They had held each other close, had breathed each others' breath, tasted it on their tongues...

But she roused him in different ways as well.

And those ways came in the form of the singing heat coursing through his body as he crushed their enemies, his mouth no longer set in the cold impassivity that had adorned it for the last ten years, but his lips curled into a snarl, his throat humming with rough growls, his body moving even _faster_  than normal as he rediscovered his delight in the hunt, the kill... and it was because now he did it for something not abstract—not as distant and removed as bringing light to the galaxy. It had been a noble calling, but it was one that was disconnected from  _people_  themselves. No, now he fought for something very real, very tangible...

His siha.

He fought to protect her, with everything that he was. He fought to protect those she loved, the crew of the Normandy, her family. He fought to protect his son, so compassionate, so generous, letting Thane close to him again after suffering through pain and neglect for so many years.

Thane had a second chance.

And he fought for that, perhaps most of all, his body tightly coiled, strength and power running unchecked. Every shot that left his rifle jolted through his body, drawing forth a low, rough groan, sounds that were matched by Shepard's cries, high and wild as she fought at his side, their biotics crackling together, singeing the air with eezo.

The Harbinger focused its attentions on Shepard, so Thane focused his attentions on it, slamming a biotic field into it, following that up with a rifle shot. It dissolved in the dank air, and Shepard caught his eye, mouth pulling up into a fierce grin, and he rumbled back, kneeling down into cover beside her. Her body was almost distracting next to his, so warm and alive, vibrating with violent energy. Thane couldn't help looking over to her, the tiny bits of exposed skin spattered with the blood of the fallen—he could smell her own blood close to the surface of her skin, her pulse hot and jumping, her breath coming in short, gasping pants.

What focused him, though, was her voice, low and urgent as she shouted her orders, but such words were not even necessary. Thane felt like he was attuned to her, as if her thoughts were his, as if she had merely to think of something and he would know, obey, carry out whatever his siha wished of him.

They slaughtered their enemies, all three of them syncing like they never had before, Thane and Garrus mere extensions of Shepard's arm. He felled enemy after enemy, retaliating almost viciously—another symptom of his new, tingling appreciation for living—against those who dared raise arms against his siha. The goal was to protect her as she took her shots against the fledgling Reaper, and he poured everything he was into that one goal.

The Reaper hovered over them like a physical manifestation of death, and Thane fought harder under its gaze, feeling as if he was working against so much more than the mere enemies before him. Things felt large, epic, symbolic, with his siha and himself burning with life and battle and light, almost poetically juxtaposed with the infant Reaper. He felt a hatred toward it that was almost illogical in its intensity—this thing that tried to blot out light with its darkness, that tried to take away all that he and Shepard worked so hard to preserve. It somehow spurred Thane on even more—he thought that he had reached the apex of his capability, but such a tangible symbol of void and death drove him to fight harder, stronger.

And it seemed to affect his siha in the same way.

Shepard was a constant presence next to him, a hot line against his side, and as Thane fired, he was always aware of her, her scent salting the air. Her mouth was curled into a snarl, her tiny white teeth flashing. She lifted foes into the air; Thane threw an arcing warp field to send them flying. Everything was perfect, as if they inhabited the same bodies, possessed the same thoughts. Their biotics tingled, sparking where they came into contact with each other, mixing together so that he felt  _her_ , spicy and intense. He could feel the singe of her crackling storms of electricity marching up his spine; like tiny mouths, they latched onto his frill, and he blew out a thrumming growl, slamming the butt of his rifle in a husk that dared to get too close.

His siha lurched into him, pulling him out of the way of another enemy as she fired at the offending husk behind him, spots of warmth decorating Thane's back. The force of their bodies together made her stumble, leaning against the lip of their cover. Thane moved to stand behind her, stance wide, pressed against her, and he fired over her head as she moved underneath him, her hips rocking back into him as she regained her balance. Such a tiny movement, but Thane had to restrain himself from rolling his hips into  _her_ , from trailing fingers stained with blood, sizzling blue, down her back, see her arch underneath him. She looked back at him, eyes bright with heat, and turned, sinking down to her knees, her hands on his thighs, steadying her.

Thane rumbled, that sound saying more than words could, and he spared a moment wishing that she knew what it meant as he knelt next to her. Shepard licked coral lips, her eyes claiming every inch of his body, before mounting her heavy weapon on her shoulder and firing it at the exposed weak points of the fledgling Reaper. The heat from the explosion washed over him, and he prepared himself for the next wave of enemies.

The battle was almost too easy.

The Reaper fell, and Shepard, moving quickly, efficiently, effortlessly, started setting up the bomb that would destroy the base. Thane hovered over her, a silent protector to a siha who needed no protecting, but he did it anyway merely because it made him feel better. Things seemed to progress smoothly, though, and Thane thought they were nearly clear, when, of course, the gods chose to throw something else at them.

Joker informed them of the Illusive Man wishing to speak with Shepard, and Thane activated his omnitool to accept the feed, freeing his siha to continue her work on the explosives.

Thane had never trusted that human, with his mechanical eyes always whirring and moving and recording. It unnerved him, and seeing him now, trying to convince Shepard to preserve this blot of darkness for his own twisted gains, made Thane want to cut the feed immediately.

The human's voice was smooth, cultured, cloying, and he tried at first appealing to Shepard's ultimate goals: wouldn't this technology help them defeat the Reapers? But Shepard coolly deflected him, bringing a smile to Thane's face as she explained that she would not give into fear, that she would not allow her desire to defeat the Reapers make her compromise who she was.

 _This_  was his siha.

Adhering fiercely to her morals, she never allowed herself to be swayed. She agonized over decisions that she  _had_  made, wondering if they were the right ones, wondering if she had followed that code of ethics she had set out for herself. Thane remembered her tears at what she had done in the geth base, how she had  _hated_  herself for making the decision she knew had to be made. It was one of the things he loved about her, that constant introspection, that constant evaluation. In her position, one might argue that it would be more beneficial for her to simply get the job done, to not worry about extraneous details, morals that either didn't affect the mission or perhaps even interfered with its completion. But that had never been the way Thane had operated, and Shepard seemed to be cast from the same mould.

Once the Illusive Man had discovered that his tactic wouldn't work, he switched to a more desperate line of argument, trying to sway her with the fact that she  _owed_  Cerberus, that it was only because of them that she had returned, and...

Shepard caught Thane's eye, a subtle shake of her head. Thane rumbled his approval and closed the call, cutting the human off in mid-sentence.

"Haven't done that since the days when you worked for the Council." Garrus quipped, and Shepard smirked.

"Never as satisfying as right now." But then she was all business once more, her form straightening, and Thane snapped to attention. "We'll set this off remotely. Let's start getting back to the Normandy..."

But no sooner had she said that then a loud, groaning sound of metal on metal proved that the battle was not yet over. Her orders changed from moving toward their escape to getting into cover, and Thane and Garrus obeyed, readying their weapons once again for another wave of enemies.

At this point, it almost seemed laughable, a last ditch effort by the Reaper fetus and its drone protectors. The Harbinger, in the face of Shepard's irrepressible light and strength, seemed weak and ineffective. Thane basked in her power, in the way she scented the air with violence and destruction; he wanted to taste it, stick his tongue out and taste that scent, and then lean over and lick a line up her throat, at the source. To taste her sweat, taste the blood of their foes, bite down and taste  _her_...

But the battle was over almost as soon as it had begun, and a moment of fierce exhilaration washed over Thane as the Reaper finally tumbled to its demise, surely not able to rise a third time after Shepard put it down once again.

Yet even as they turned to try to escape, the platforms they were on veered wildly to one side, bucking and lurching, and Thane reached out for his siha to steady her, trying to keep his own balance, but...

He fell.

And all at once he was sliding, sliding, unable to catch anything to hold onto, seeing the end rush up on him like an unstoppable wave. He... he...

Memories suddenly washed over him.

 _I am ashamed by my tears, breaking down in front of her like a_ child _, someone as strong as her, as faultless as her. And I bare my flaws, my weaknesses, and it_ shames _me. But there is nothing I can do, frightened as I am, terrified of losing her, of dying myself. It doesn't make sense, and I try to explain this to her, tell her how much she has helped me, how much she has_ awakened _me. Her hand lands on my frill, and I cannot accept her touch, not yet. She doesn't know the meaning behind what she does._

 _The brush of Shepard's lips against mine is a complete shock—I nearly step away from her in surprise, completely thrown off by her actions despite the fact that she is doing exactly what I have longed to do for_ days _._

_But any confusion passes quickly._

_I lean into her, something akin to a growl forced from my throat, claiming her lips for my own. I pull her closer, cannot pull her close enough, and I run my fingers through her fiery hair, something I have longed to do again for far too long, before finally allowing myself to touch that slender throat of hers, delicately patterned soft skin against my roughened fingers, and I can feel her pulse jump underneath my touch._

_Her taste is something sweet and salty all at once-she reminds me of ripened seaberries, a light sea spray clinging in dewy droplets along its reddened flesh, and even if I wanted to try, I could not stop myself from moaning into her mouth, feeling my blood quicken with desire. She is pressed against me, and oh gods, the rounded curves of her body, the softness of her skin, nearly drives me_ wild _with need._

He caught the edge of a lip, scrabbled on with his fingers, but then momentum carried him away, and he barely registered the pain of one of his fingernails nearly ripping away in his mounting panic to grab a hold of  _something_. Even as he saw the yawning chasm loom ever closer, his mind shoved images from last night at him, and Thane was suddenly painfully aware that this was, in effect, his life flashing before his eyes, the last set of memories his mind chose to showcase before he died...

And he reeled in the grip of yet another one.

 _She makes little, low sounds, small whimpers, and they bring me back to myself-I pull back to look at her, suddenly worried that perhaps I am not doing well, perhaps I am not pleasing her. We are so very different, and I am anxious with the thought that this won't_ work _, that I will be too strange for her to deal with. My words are halting, hesitating, but she smiles at me, her voice coming soft and full, and she trails pale fingers down my throat, the splash of luminescence startling against my crimson. Her touch is intimate and shocking, and it forces a needy sound from my mouth-it has been_ so long _since I have been caressed in such a way. I feel myself nearly melt against her, and a distant part of me might be embarrassed by how pliant I am under her fingertips, but I cannot bring myself to care._

 _And then she hesitates, and I realize that she is just as nervous as I am, just as unsure if she is doing the right thing. But there is one thing that I know she will like, that I will like too, and I bend my head to her throat, planting open-mouthed kisses along her pulse, feeling myself shiver with the pleasure of finally being able to_ taste _her there, nibble at her tender skin, trace thin scars with my tongue._

_She cries out in my arms, pressing herself ever firmer against me, and I hum back, crooning my adoration for her as she tilts her head back further, baring herself to me._

What were the gods  _doing_  to him? Why were they choosing to torment him like this? Hadn't he been good? Hadn't he  _atoned_? They had set Shepard before his eyes, made him think first that she might be his, then that she wasn't, and then that she  _was_ , and now he was about to die. It felt immeasurably cruel. He understood why they took Irikah away from him, understood its punishment, but now? Arashu help him,  _now_?

 _I feel my heart_ swell _for her, this fierce human woman who has allowed me to lavish such attentions on her, and I become a little more insistent in my movements, my hand tightening along her waist, gripping her, sliding my hand under her shirt to feel her softly patterned skin. I nip at her now, a prelude to what I want to do, claim her, mark her, her wild pulse dancing on my tongue, her cries spurring me on._

_She runs her own hands up my belly, up my chest, tugs at my jacket. "Off," she commands. And what shall I do but obey her? I smile against her skin, inhaling her sweet, salty scent, and begin undoing the clasps, sliding my jacket off of my shoulders, letting it land in a messy heap on the floor. My vest is next, and I hear her breath hitch in her throat as I finally bare my chest to her._

_And suddenly I am nervous._

_Again with the anxiety. I do not have her features though, the hair, the nipples, anything of the sort. My upper body is smooth and scaled, planes of dark green interrupted by speckles and stripes—nothing like her monochrome body._

_Yes, she has seen me before. Memories of her panting form are close behind my eyes, the feel of her on my scales innocuous at the time but almost tormenting now. But that was a different context—and now..._

Thane saw Shepard dive after him, and if he wasn't currently trying to stave off panic, he would have shouted at her to  _stop_ , to not throw herself in more danger, that he wasn't  _worth_  it...

 _She pulls me forward, rubs her soft cheek over my stomach, and something like a ragged purr tears its way out my throat, my fears gone with that simple touch. The thought of her so... close... She kisses down, down, down, stops right above the waistband of my pants, and I am so_ incredibly _excited by the thought of her continuing, of undoing the buttons on my strained trousers, taking me in her mouth..._

_She feathers soft fingers along the small of my back, and my hips jerk toward her of their own volition, a gasping shiver running through me. Tangling my hand in her hair, slipping the soft, garnet strands through my fingers, I look down at her, her pale face turned up toward me, her lips shining and parted, her kelp eyes locking with mine._

_She is_ beautiful _._

Her hand is stretched out to catch him, and he reaches for her, automatically, instinctively, even as he fears them  _both_  going over. Who is he that she should endanger herself? Shepard, the only person strong enough to stand between the galaxy and darkness, risking her light to save him... If he didn't think that the gods were punishing him, he would see her as the hand of Arashu Herself...

 _And I want to see_ her _, as she has seen me, kiss her as she has kissed me, and I bring my other hand up to mimic her earlier actions, tugging at her sleeve. "Off?" I whisper, a dark chuckle edging my words._

_And she laughs too, a high tinkling like glass bells, and pulls her shirt off over her head, unhooks the garment adorning her breasts, and I get the barest glimpse of her before she crosses her arms over her chest, avoiding my eyes. She is as nervous as I was, and I croon low, soothingly, kneeling before her._

_I duck my head to catch her green gaze, and she smiles, her coral lips tugged up almost against her will it seems, as if she wants to frown but cannot. I smile back at her, feeling my heart almost_ ache _for how much I love her, how much I want to_ please _her._

 _Her skin, pink and soft with her embarrassment, is something beautiful, warm like a sunset, and I tell her so, admiring her beauty, her delicate coloring. I thought her monochrome before, but I forcibly remind myself that she_ is not _, changing colors as she does, and I gently pull her arms away from her chest, capturing her lips once again with mine. It is something I cannot get enough of—kissing her—and some part of me is convinced that if I could spend the rest of my days locked in her embrace, I could want for nothing else._

Their hands brush each other, and for a moment, just a moment, he feels the tender, sweet skin of her wrist, the wild pulse there, and if he really does have to die here, in this base, he counts himself blessed that he gets to touch her soft skin one last time.

_Her lips are so soft and pliant against mine, and she sighs as I lower her to the bed. I hold myself over her on my elbows, trailing my mouth down her jaw, along her neck, worshiping her as is her due, as my siha._

_Her breasts, soft and full and_ strange _to me, me who has never been with anyone except my own kind, swell under my mouth, and I pull back a bit to look at them properly now, memorizing their curve, trailing a hand over one, then the other. She gasps at my touch, squirms as I get closer to one of her pink nipples—it seems that is the color that interrupts her pale sand skin all over, that blushing coral—and I am taken in by the strange texture, the way in which such a simple, innocent touch can arouse such a strong reaction._

_Hesitantly, tentatively, I lower my mouth to her, running my tongue over her, and her nipple hardens—another odd reaction. She gasps and arches underneath me, and I look up at her, thinking, hoping that is a positive reaction, but unsure._

_Her smile is something lopsided and almost drunk, and she orders me not to stop_.

_And who am I to disobey?_

The brief moment that their hands touch, that he thinks she might pull him back, succeed, ends in a heartbeat, and he is still tumbling down, she is still tumbling after him. Would the gods really be so cruel as to make him watch  _her_  die? He had not seen Irikah, seen her cry out in pain, no doubt crying out for  _him_ , for him to save her. He had only seen the aftermath, and that had broken him in ways that still were not totally healed. Was he not punished enough? This time, would the gods make him  _watch_?

_I tug at her breasts with my lips, kissing them, suckling on them, whatever pulls a more eager response from the woman writhing under me. The hand not propping me up sneaks down between her legs, and I feel her heat there, her wet arousal, and I press my fingers into her center, caressing her through the cloth. The startled groan that comes from her makes me roll my hips into her, my own arousal heavy against her leg, and she rocks into my hand, silently asking for more._

_What did I do to deserve this?_

_This strong, fierce woman beneath me, unstoppable, an unfathomable, almost natural force, and she allows me to be with her, to touch her. There, surely, are any number of men and women who would gladly warm her bed, and she has chosen_ me _._

_The crooning rumble that vibrates my throat is something that I wish she could hear in its entirety, and as I cast my eyes back up at her, I almost say it, almost put into words what the purr in my chest would have already told another drell, but..._

_...I cannot._

_And I am not certain why I hesitate to tell her that I love her, adore her, worship her, other than I think she might... what if she does not feel the same?_

_But, an odd look crosses her face as her eyes lock with mine, and a whimpering gasp leaves her mouth as she pulls me back up to her, kissing me deeply, sliding her small tongue in my mouth, and I groan my approval, feeling as if time itself has stopped as she kisses me._

He knows her by now, knows that she approaches her duties with the irrepressible idea that she can save  _everyone_. And that is simply not the case. If he could tell her, he would do so. Tell her that she is strong, beautiful, capable, intelligent, but... as he had learned long ago, no matter what one does... not everyone can be saved. If the gods are taking him now, not even her status as Arashu's own could allow her to intervene.

 _She wraps her strong thighs around my slender hips, pressing her heat against me, forcing an almost feral growl from my mouth as I snap my hips back into hers. Her fingers slide down my throat; she grinds against me, and the absolute unfettered_ need _to be inside of her is almost painful in its intensity._

 _I hook my fingers in the waistband of her pants, my mouth never leaving hers, and I undo the fastenings there, pulling down her zipper, a part of me almost recoiling at how brazen I am, but she mimics me, attacking my_ own _pants, slipping her hand inside and gripping me firmly._

_I have to pull away from her mouth then to release a ragged moan, my eyes shut tightly as her small, soft hand works its way up and down my length. She lingers on the ridges, pressing, caressing, and I am held in place, trembling above her. It is almost too much; I am panting, growling, whispering things that make no sense, but I do not care._

_I want... I want to do the same for her, and I work my own hand inside her trousers, sliding under her layers of clothing, brushing fingers over the wet curls I find there, and finally dipping my fused fingers between her folds, the heat, the scent, the way she cries out, all combining to drive a strangled moan from my throat._

_She tugs at my pants, trying to pull them off of my hips, and I nearly laugh at her urgency, at the way her brow furrows in concentration, elated by the simple fact that she wants me just as much as I want her._

_I back off of the bed, sliding my pants off of my hips, down my legs, stepping out of them to tug on the hem of her pants at her ankles, pulling off her shoes, trying to get her to do the same as I did. She laughs, so free and filled with joy, and I cannot help but join her, low chuckles of my own rumbling my chest as she lifts her hips to tug her pants off, tossing them to the side._

_And then... there we are._

He is getting what he wants. Hadn't he said that he didn't want to die in a hospital? Hooked up to machines? He is dying in battle like he had prayed to be allowed to do. But... gods... he doesn't want this anymore. Not now, not when he has rediscovered a purpose. He had promised Kolyat he would return. He had  _so much more_  he wanted to tell his son, so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to share. He had wanted to be there when Kolyat had a child of his own, wanted to hold that baby in his arms, see Irikah in the tiny features, mixed in with his son and his chosen wife. He had wanted them to be a family again...

_Both exposed, both vulnerable, and I crawl hesitantly back on the bed. Hovering over her, I lock eyes with her, my siha, her bright, beautiful gaze so arresting and distracting that I feel myself nearly drowning, held there by her. She whispers my name, never have I heard a sweeter sound, and her hand cups my cheek, brings me down so that she can capture my mouth with hers._

_Ah, gods help me, but I am taken with her, the way her body rolls into mine, the way her soft pink tongue slips through my lips, the way she moans my name into my mouth. I run my hand down her strong thigh, gripping her, bringing her leg up to rest on my hip, and when she bucks against me, I inadvertently come into contact with her hot center. We both gasp; she bites her lip. "Siha..." I breathe, wanting to... but unsure... Never have I been this uncertain, so afraid of displeasing her._

_But she pleads, rocking into me again, and I submit with a sigh, working my way into her, the feel of her gripping me, of her whimpering, mewling sounds as I sink into her burned forever into my mind. She is..._

_...Gods..._

_I am panting by the time I bury myself completely in her tight heat, my mind nearly delirious with how_ good _this feels, how heartrendingly_ beautiful _she looks, her mouth wet and parted, the little gasps and moans falling from her, the way her pulse jumps under her skin, glistening with a slight sheen of sweat._

_I lick her neck as I begin to move, murmuring against her, words of adoration, of reverence, my siha, my angel, my goddess. Sometimes I think I am speaking too low for her; can she hear me or does she only feel the vibrations of my declarations?_

_It doesn't matter; she urges me to go faster, and what can I do but comply, her every wish, every desire the only thing that motivates me, the only thing for which my heart still beats._

But it isn't only Kolyat that made his heart beat now. It is Shepard, his siha. For so long, Thane had thought he was unworthy of love, of life, of happiness. Shepard showed him otherwise, opened his eyes again, quickened his blood. For the gods to take this away now... He feels a surge of anger at the gods, for tormenting him far more than any mortal should be punished, for allowing him to love again, and then ripping it away from him. Why didn't he tell her that he loved her? Why didn't he take the chance while they were in bed, wrapped around each other, cradling each other in their arms... She should know, she should  _know_  that he loved her, he should have said it more than once—in her embrace, still inside of her; in her ear as they held each other after. He should have pulled her to him before they boarded the Mako, should have murmured his love for her into her throat. He  _should have told her_. Another regret,  _another one_. Oh, Arashu...

_She is crying out under me, meeting my every thrust with one of her own, and I seek out her hand, threading our mismatched fingers together, needing to hold onto her. I can feel myself losing control, reaching that brink, and I try to hold on for her, nipping at her throat, planting humming kisses across her hot, salted skin._

The edge is close, too close; he can't help crying out, warning Shepard away...

_Her cries become more frantic; she hooks her legs around my waist, and lays her own hand against my frill, whispering words, little things, praising my body, encouraging me, saying how much she..._

...Says something he can't catch, the look on her face is one of absolute determination, and he  _knows_  that she will not leave him, no matter how he begs her.

_I think I hear her stutter out the word 'love', but then she is suddenly tightening around me, cresting, arching underneath me, and I am..._

...Suspended in the air, for one terrifying moment he is weightless before he begins to fall.

_I am undone._

_The strangled shout that is wrenched from me resonates across several different frequencies, the parts that she cannot hear rumbling in my chest. My body moves of its own volition, trying to drive itself impossibly deeper within her, and I bury my face in her shoulder, right at the crook of her neck, my breath coming out in rasping croons._

Her hand.

Her grip is strong, endowed with strength that seems beyond even her, and he almost imagines he can see the fluttering robes of Arashu haloed around her. He looks up at her, her kelp eyes so bright, so fine.

His siha.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well, then! Here we are! Done! Finally! Thank you so much for those of you who have stuck around to see the ending of this story. I know I made you wait far too long, but I do hope it was worth it.

This chapter, this story, wouldn't be in its current form without my dear beta. She is more than that to me; she is one of my dearest friends. I can't thank her enough. I wish I had the eloquence necessary to do so. She's guided me,  _saved_  me, and in this chapter, she not only salvaged it from utter crap, but she also contributed a few sentences in the fourth paragraph. You should be able to tell which are hers. They are much better than anything I can come up with. ^_^

I do plan on writing more, especially since ME3 broke my heart. Not sure when that will happen though. For now, I think I'll be taking a bit of a break, but I hope that when I do decide to take up the pen again, you'll be there with me too.


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